


dyed carnations

by peachgloss



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Case Fic, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgloss/pseuds/peachgloss
Summary: Detective Han, the note reads,it is so good to finally get to speak with you. I've been fascinated by your mind for a while now, and this man you see here was a poor substitute. I hope you don't take this as a threat, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. I'll be in contact again soon.The note signs off with a heart drawn in dried blood.Or: There's a new serial killer in town with a strange obsession with the detective assigned to catch him.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 29
Kudos: 313
Collections: STRAY KIDS BIGBANG: 2020, The Ultimate Hyunsung Masterlist





	dyed carnations

As soon as Jisung walks into the precinct on Monday morning, Chief Im thrusts a case folder into his hands. “We’re assigning you a new case,” she says. “You’ll be working with Detective Lee on this one. Don’t get too excited,” she warns when Jisung perks up. “It’s only on this case, for now—don’t think we’ve forgotten why you were split up in the first place.”

Jisung wilts in his place. “Yes boss,” he says meekly. “I promise we’ll be on our best behavior.”

“You’d best be,” Chief Im says, eyeing him in a manner that promises no leniency if they mess up again. Jisung thinks it’s a little unfair—he and Minho have the best record in the city, and the incident that had gotten them separated hadn’t even been their fault.

But he’s not foolish enough to voice any of that out loud to his boss when she’s just come around to partnering them up again, and so he gives her one more agreeable nod before hurrying to his desk to review the case.

As he pages through the file, Jisung’s brows furrow and he catches his lip in between his teeth. There are barely any details at all on the victim, since it looks like whoever had the case before he and Minho hadn’t even been able to identify her.

Jisung hisses out a breath as he turns the page and takes in the crime scene photograph. He notices other people coming into the station and the hum of background conversation around him, but he pays it no mind as he stares at the picture.

It’s not very carefully taken, the details slightly blurry as if the photographer’s hands had been shaking, but Jisung is transfixed nonetheless. 

His eyes trace over the young woman in a white dress who has been arranged to look like she’s praying. Her legs are neatly folded under her body, which is leaning on a pew for support. Her head is upturned to face the ceiling of the church she’d been found in, and in her outstretched hands sits her heart, which has been torn out of her body. White petals surround her limp body, and one delicate flower has been placed in her open mouth. Belatedly, he realizes her throat has been slit.

Jisung feels wrong just for thinking it, but this crime scene reminds him of something from a museum, a natural phenomenon frozen in time.

“Creepy, right?” a voice comes from over his shoulder, and Jisung jerks guiltily and snaps the folder shut, turning around in his chair to see Minho, looking grim. “It happened around a week ago—scared the shit out of the pastor when he came in that morning.”

“They haven’t been able to I.D. her yet?” Jisung wonders as he places the folder on his desk. “It’s not like her face has been disfigured or anything.”

Minho shakes his head. “No witnesses, no missing person reports, no identification on her person,” he explains. “It’s so strange—you’d think she’d have someone who’d notice she’s gone, but it’s been a week and it’s just radio silence.”

Jisung’s eyebrows fly up. “Was there nothing on her person at all, then?” he asks incredulously, then reconsiders. “Actually, from the looks of it, this was extremely premeditated, so I guess that makes sense.”

Minho nods, dragging a chair to sit next to his partner. “They finally hired a new forensic pathologist,” he reassures. “We might find something through fingerprint analysis.”

“Thank god,” Jisung groans in relief, dragging a hand over his eyes. “We’ve literally been begging the higher-ups to replace Bang for ages—it’s been ruining our productivity, having to go to other districts for forensics.”

“Do you want to go meet him now?” Minho asks. “I haven’t yet, and it’s always good to get to know your colleagues before you ask them to handle dead bodies for you.”

“You have a point,” Jisung says, getting out of his chair. “It’s not like we can do anything on this case until we figure out who the victim is.”

He and Minho make their way down to the basement with some difficulty—it looks like the new pathologist is popular, since there’s a steady stream of people coming in and out.

“I guess everyone has the same idea as us,” Minho comments. “Hey Felix,” he greets Jisung’s old partner politely as he passes them on the stairwell.

“Watch Jisung’s back for me,” Felix tells him with a teasing smile. “You know how he gets sloppy when he’s absorbed in a case.”

“Hey!” Jisung protests, but the other two are already laughing at his expense. “Whatever,” he grumbles, reaching the bottom of the stairs and pushing open the door to the forensics lab.

He immediately wants to close it again, because he’s greeted with maybe the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Jisung’s pretty sure he makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat, because Minho snickers quietly at his back.

“Oh, hello,” the man, who must be the new hire, says cheerfully. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin, the new forensic pathologist.”

When Jisung doesn’t say anything at first, Minho shoots him a look, then speaks up. “I’m Lee Minho, and this is my partner Han Jisung. It’s such a relief to finally have a forensics guy again—we’ve been going to different precincts for analysis.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Hyunjin says. “I’d offer to shake hands, but—” he jerks his head at his hands, which Jisung belatedly realized are currently buried in a corpse. “I’m trying to figure out what he ate before he died.”

“We wouldn’t want to keep you from work,” Jisung manages to say, still a little starstruck. He meets Hyunjin’s dark eyes and feels his heart beat faster. He has to get out of there before he embarrasses himself further.

“It was nice meeting you, but we have to go—go investigate,” he improvises wildly. Jisung knows he’s flushing bright red as he practically drags Minho out of the basement lab and up the stairs before Hyunjin can even respond.

“What’s up with you?” Minho demands, not even winded as Jisung slows down at the top of the second flight of stairs. “Normally, a pretty face doesn’t fluster you that much, but you were tripping over your words.”

Jisung’s not sure how to explain the effect the new pathologist has on him, so he mumbles something noncommittal and presses his hands to his face in an effort to calm his blush. After a few seconds, the realization hits him.

“Shit,” he says, sitting bolt upright in his chair. When Minho looks at him quizzically, he elaborates. “We have to go back down there and ask him to do the fingerprint analysis on the vic.”

Minho cracks up. “You mean _you_ have to ask him,” he gets out, then dissolves back into laughter at the betrayed look Jisung sends him. “You brought this upon yourself,” he points out, “but you should probably wait a little before you go back down and embarrass yourself more.”

“Until then,” Jisung sighs, “should we go back over the crime scene pictures? There’s likely a significance to it, since it was arranged so purposefully.”

“Maybe it’s a message to someone?” Minho suggests, already pulling the file with the photographs in it to his chest and flipping it open.

It doesn’t hit Jisung as powerfully the second time, but he still feels a strange undercurrent of admiration as he stares at the woman kneeling on the church floor.

“The location is obviously significant,” he says. “As is the positioning—she’s offering her heart to someone, probably God?”

“That makes sense,” Minho says thoughtfully. “She’s giving up a vital part of herself to religion. Maybe our killer has had bad experiences with the church?”

Jisung writes that down in the little pocket notebook he keeps for case notes. “Do you know what types of flowers those are?” he asks. “They’re not common, so they were probably chosen purposefully.”

Minho shakes his head, so the two spend fifteen minutes trying to describe the shapes of the petals clearly enough for Google to give them accurate results. In the end, Jisung’s pretty certain the white flowers scattered around are asphodels and the flower in her mouth is a cyclamen.

“‘Death’ and ‘all good things will eventually leave,’” he muses aloud. “Do you think we could find out which florists have recently sold these two in combination?”

“We can try,” Minho says, “but the Internet makes that difficult. Since these aren’t commonly sold, it’s more likely our killer ordered them online.”

Jisung sighs, sinking back into his chair. “So all we have to go on is speculation about a religious background,” he complains. “Can you check if the pastor said anything significant?”

“He has no idea who she is or how she got there,” Minho says, shaking his head. “It could be a member of his congregation, but he seems to believe that none of them would be capable of doing anything like that.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “What pastor would accuse one of his congregation of murder?” he asks rhetorically. “I don’t know if the church itself is significant, though,” he adds. “It’s probably the fact that it’s a church at all that matters.”

“Unless the killer has had bad experiences with this church in particular,” Minho points out. It makes sense, as something to work off of until they have something more substantial, but Jisung has a gut feeling that his partner is wrong.

“In any case, we have no leads until we identify this woman,” Jisung says, standing up and cracking his back out of habit, ignoring Minho’s disgusted look. “I guess I have to bite the bullet and ask Hyunjin-ssi to fingerprint her.”

“I’ll come, then,” Minho offers. Before Jisung can be surprised at this uncharacteristically generous offer, he tacks on, “I need to see how you manage to screw up a simple interaction again.”

Jisung sends him baleful looks the entire trek down to the basement.

Hyunjin has progressed from bile extraction to examination in the time they’ve spent analyzing the crime scene, and he doesn’t look up as the two walk in. Politely, Jisung waits until Hyunjin lifts his head from the microscope to talk.

“Hey,” he says, then internally kicks himself for the lame greeting. “I’m Han Jisung, in case you don’t remember—”

“I remember you,” Hyunjin interrupts. “And your partner, Lee Minho-ssi, right?”

Minho nods silently, clearly waiting for Jisung to talk.

“We’ve been waiting on a pathologist to do fingerprinting of this Jane Doe we’ve had for a week,” Jisung explains. “We have literally no other leads, so would you mind—”

“Of course,” Hyunjin says. “Just let me finish up this analysis, and I’ll see if I can find her in the database. Could you email me the case details?”

“Sure,” Jisung agrees, relieved that the interaction was so painless. He turns to leave, but Minho stops him with a hand on his sleeve. 

“Hyunjin-ssi, you should come eat lunch with us sometime,” his partner proposes, an innocent smile on his face. “It would be nice to get to know you more.”

Hyunjin’s responding smile is blinding. “I’d be happy to! Just let me know when you two take your lunch break, and I’ll see if I’m free.”

Before Jisung knows it, his partner and Hyunjin have exchanged numbers, with a promise to text later asking for lunch.

“I hate you so much,” Jisung hisses out of the side of his mouth as the door to the basement swings shut behind them. “You can’t let me have one win.”

“That was barely a win,” Minho laughs, patting Jisung on the shoulder. “You function fine in a work capacity, but let’s see how well you do in a casual setting.”

“Why do you want to humiliate me so badly?” Jisung demands, pouting at his partner. “I thought we’d already established from the incident last year that we’re both disasters.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again,” Minho snaps, giving Jisung a stern look. “Listen,” he continues, suddenly turning serious. “Let’s just get to know him, okay? I think you two might be good for each other.”

* * *

Hyunjin has the fingerprint results to them in short order—their Jane Doe is a woman named Park Seoyeon. There’s an address on file, too, so Jisung and Minho have to take a rain check on lunch to investigate.

Park Seoyeon’s address is almost in the suburbs, so it’s a long drive out. It’s still a little weird adjusting back to working with Minho after being with Felix for so long, so Jisung takes the time to mull over the case to himself instead of talking it over with his partner. Apparently, Minho feels the same way, because he’s preoccupied himself with looking out the window thoughtfully.

“We’re here,” Jisung announces unnecessarily, breaking the silence. It’s a simple apartment complex with three stories and a small parking garage in the back, which Jisung pulls into.

They go talk to the landlady, a woman who looks to be in about her fifties. When Jisung pulls out the picture of Seoyeon from her driver’s license, her eyes light up in recognition.

“I remember her! She always helped me with my groceries before she moved out,” she says, smiling fondly at the picture in Jisung’s hands.

“Moved out?” Minho asks, taking out his notepad.

The landlady nods, bemused. “Yes, she moved out around two weeks ago. Why are you asking?”

Jisung bites his lip. “Do you know her new address?” he asks, ignoring her question.

“I don’t believe so,” she says, brows furrowing.

“She’s been missing for a week,” Minho explains, and Jisung can tell he doesn’t want to scare her. “Do you remember if she was acting strangely in the weeks before she moved out, or if she had anyone who might hold bad intentions toward her?”

The landlady thinks for a bit. “Oh!” she says, eyes widening in realization. “She mentioned something about her parents not wanting her to come back home when she moved in. But that couldn’t be it, right? What kinds of parents would wish harm on their own child?”

Jisung shakes his head solemnly. “Why did she say she wanted to move out, again?” he presses, careful to modulate his tone as not to agitate the landlady.

“I think she said something about wanting to move in with her friend,” she says uncertainly. “They were very close, if I remember correctly—one was always staying over at the other’s apartment, so it wasn’t surprising they decided to move in together. I don’t have her name,” she adds, seeing Jisung’s mouth open to ask the obvious question.

He and Minho share a look. It seems like this landlady really doesn’t know much else about her former tenant. “Thank you for your time,” Minho says politely.

“I hope you find her,” she worries, “she was such a nice young lady.”

The landlady sends them off with a tin of small cookies, which Jisung puts in his glove compartment when they get into the car.

“Basically, we have nothing,” he summarizes as he pulls out of the parking garage, and Minho nods in agreement.

“That friend the landlady mentioned—do you think they could be a suspect?”

“At this point, anyone could be,” Jisung groans. “I know plenty of friends are that close, but the relationship the landlady described sounded more like—”

“They were dating?” Minho completes. “That’s what it sounded like to me, and it also makes sense as a reason her parents wouldn’t want her back home.”

“Should we go interview them, then?” Jisung wonders. “They could at least confirm a lot of this speculation for us.”

Minho nods, so Jisung radios the station and asks them to look up the parents’ addresses. In short order, they’re driving back to the city.

Park Seoyeon’s parents live in a lavish high-rise, and Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up when he pulls up in front of the building and a valet opens the door for him.

“Ritzy,” he mumbles out of the side of his mouth to Minho as he hands his keys to the eager man. It’s lucky they’re not in the cruiser today, since they’re just investigating and want to stay lowkey.

They walk into the elegantly decorated lobby, Jisung slightly hesitantly. He’s hyper-aware of how out-of-place he seems among the wealth around them.

Minho, on the other hand, moves like he’s used to being surrounded by luxury, greeting the receptionist smoothly. “Hello, we’re looking to speak to—” he checks his notes— “Park Seojun-ssi and Park Haeun-ssi?”

She eyes him suspiciously. “May I see identification, please, sir?”

Minho pulls out his badge and nudges Jisung to do the same. The receptionist takes them, looks them over suspiciously, then reaches over to grab a phone from a groove discreetly carved into the wood of her desk.

“Seojun-ssi?” she greets. “Two policemen are here, and they would like to talk to you. Should I send them up?”

Her expression clears after a minute. “They’ll be up in a minute, sir,” she says, handing Minho an elevator key. “Top floor.”

“Thank you,” Minho says, eyes crinkling into a smile. The receptionist ignores him, merely waving them over to the elevators.

“Rich people really live a different life,” Jisung says as soon as the doors close behind them. “I could never be as comfortable here as you seem to be.”

Minho shrugs noncommittally. “I’ve had some experience in these environments. It’s not really a big deal once you get used to it.”

They’re at the top floor before Jisung can say anything else. He’s taken aback for a moment—he hadn’t anticipated the elevator opening directly into the penthouse.

“Hello,” a man who must be Park Seojun greets the pair as they step into the entryway and toe off their shoes. “Please, come sit down. I was told you have a few questions for me?”

Jisung nods and pulls out his notebook as he settles into the plush living room chair offered to him. “We’re here to ask about your daughter, actually.”

Mr. Park’s face turns dark, but he manages to maintain his composure. “What did you want to ask about her?”

“I have some very bad news,” Minho starts. “Your daughter was killed around a week ago.”

Jisung is watching carefully, so he doesn’t miss the flash of real surprise and grief across the older man’s face before he gathers himself. “I assume that you are here to investigate her death?”

“We were wondering if you could give us any insight into why. Do you have an idea of anyone who could want to hurt her—maybe someone holding a grudge?”

“I can’t think of anyone,” Mr. Park says, voice slightly hoarse. “I haven’t had contact with her since—” he cuts himself off, looking wary.

“Since what?” Jisung prods. “Park Seojun-ssi,” he adds, since Mr. Park looks reticent. “Any information you could give us helps at this point. We could bring your daughter’s killer to justice.”

“Since she became a _dyke_ ,” Mr. Park spits reluctantly. Jisung wants to recoil at his blatant homophobia, but years of training keep him still. He can feel Minho tense at his side. “Haeun and I told her we didn’t want anything to do with her until she came to her senses.”

“When was that?” Jisung asks, trying to remain calm.

Mr. Park’s brows furrow. “Maybe a year ago?” he estimates. “At first, I kept track, but by now we’ve given up on her returning to God.”

“Are you particularly religious?” Minho asks, seizing the opportunity.

“We all were,” Mr. Park mutters resentfully, “until Seoyeon renounced everything we taught her and left the church and us.”

Jisung and Minho share a significant glance. “Do you know of anyone in your daughter’s life that might have known her history with you, and that she left the church?”

The older man thinks for a minute. “Everyone that runs in our circles cut off ties with her after we did,” he says vindictively. “Well—there is one person.”

“Who?” Minho presses. This could be their lead.

“Her best friend,” Mr. Park says slowly. “Yang Jeongin.”

Jisung writes down Jeongin’s contact information as Minho tucks away Mr. Park’s card into his own notebook and thanks him for his time.

“We will keep you updated,” Jisung promises. “We have yet to perform an autopsy, but as soon as her body is no longer needed for the investigation, we’ll contact you so that you can set up funeral proceedings as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Park says, seeing them back into the elevator.

“He seemed so calm,” Minho comments. “That’s so suspicious—if my daughter died, I certainly wouldn’t be reacting like that.”

“I don’t know,” Jisung muses. “I was watching his face really carefully when you broke the news, and it seemed like he was really surprised. It could be that he’s just naturally a very composed person.”

Minho shakes his head. “He seemed to genuinely be disgusted by her when he was talking about her sexuality, though,” he points out. “Though I suppose that doesn’t translate to wanting her dead.”

“What I don’t understand, though,” Jisung says after he’s gotten his car back from the valet, “is why she wasn’t reported missing. It’s been a week.”

“Right,” Minho agrees. “I’d like to go interview Yang Jeongin right now, but I think it might be a little late to.” Sure enough, it’s already six in the afternoon and nearing the end of their shifts.

“I suppose we should just pick up tomorrow, then,” Jisung says as he turns the car onto the highway. “It’s been a week, so I don’t think anything bad will come of us waiting a day.”

Of course, he’s wrong about that. 

It’s one in the morning when he gets the call from Chief Im to come in immediately.

“There have been new developments in the case I just assigned you,” she says, and the urgency in her tone has Jisung stumbling out of bed, tripping over the pile of clothes on the floor in his haste to get dressed.

When he arrives at the station, hair sleep-tousled and eyes still slightly bleary, he’s greeted by Minho’s worried expression. “Another body’s been found, and it looks like it’s the same killer.”

Jisung snaps into awareness immediately. “We have to go to the scene,” he says, and Minho nods in agreement.

They take the cruiser this time, breaking several speed limits as they rush to the crime scene. Jisung pulls up at the address Chief Im had given them, hands shaking on the steering wheel. It’s a public park, but luckily it’s so late there are no civilians nearby to block their way.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Jisung mumbles as he and Minho make their way through the officers who had been called to the scene initially. He ducks under the caution tape and freezes.

The rest of the world fades away as he takes in the man lying face-up on the ground, his tongue cut out. His arms have been arranged to lie crossed on his chest, his blank eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. A ring of the same white flowers—asphodels—has been carefully arranged to surround him, and a bunch of blood-splattered roses tied with a ribbon has been placed over his crossed hands.

“This one’s different,” Jisung whispers to Minho. “The rose, I mean. It must have some kind of significance.”

“It means innocence and purity, if that helps,” comes a voice from behind Jisung. He whips around to see Hwang Hyunjin, gloved hands held out in the universal sign of surrender. “My brother’s a florist,” he says in explanation.

“Innocence and purity,” Jisung mutters to himself thoughtfully, walking closer to the body carefully. “Do we have an I.D. on the victim?”

“Not yet,” Hyunjin says. “Like the other one, there weren’t personal items on his person.”

“More signs that this is the same killer,” Jisung sighs. “That makes it even more likely they’ll kill again.”

There’s just something about the composition of the crime scene that reminds him of something he can’t place, so Jisung takes a closer look. Leaning over to take a closer look at the victim allows him to spot a small white flap of paper tucked neatly into one of his limp hands. He nudges Hyunjin to draw his attention to it.

“Have all the crime scene photos been taken?” he asks, pulling on the pair of gloves Minho offers him wordlessly.

Hyunjin considers this for a moment. “It’s been over an hour since this was called in, so yes,” he replies, gesturing for Jisung to read the note.

Careful to not disturb the positioning of the body, Jisung pulls out the note and unfolds it.

“Ashes,” he mumbles, mind racing. That phrase, combined with the positioning of the flowers around the body, is somehow incredibly familiar.

“What does that mean?” Hyunjin asks. His voice seems as if it’s coming from far away as Jisung stares at the slightly crumpled paper in his hands.

Finally, it hits him. “Do you remember that nursery rhyme we used to sing as kids? The one that goes, ‘Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies’?”

“Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,” Minho completes, eyes going wide. “You think the killer is trying to reference it?”

Jisung nods, still absorbed by the crime scene. “The asphodels are arranged in a ring around the rose, and a posy is a bunch of flowers,” he explains, pointing out each flower. “The rhyme is a reference to the bubonic plague, though, so I don’t know what kind of relevance it would have here, though.”

He’s lost in his thoughts for several moments. “Hyunjin-ssi, when you perform an autopsy, could you keep an eye out for any abnormalities in his health? I don’t know, but I have a hunch that the nursery rhyme could be pointing to a serious illness.”

“That seems like a bit of a stretch,” Hyunjin comments, “since there’s no way that the killer could have known about any diseases that aren’t apparent just from looking at the body.”

“I know,” Jisung sighs. “Still, I just have a gut feeling about this one. Don’t go looking for one, but if you do find something chronic or otherwise serious, it might shed light on the killer’s motivations.”

“What are you thinking so far?” Hyunjin asks, a gleam of interest in his eyes.

Jisung rubs his temples. “Park Seoyeon-ssi was gay,” he starts, “so if this victim turns out to be ill, it could be that the killer sees himself as purging the world of what he sees as impurities, or something of the sort. I don’t really know about that, though—the nature of the murders doesn’t make me think that they were done out of rage or disgust.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Hyunjin says, sounding impressed. “The wounds inflicted on both bodies seem to have been premeditated, not done in a fit of emotion.”

Jisung frowns thoughtfully. “It also doesn’t seem like this killer is simply picking victims at random, but we can’t possibly come up with a connection between these two until we identify this newest one. How soon do you think you can do that?”

“By tomorrow afternoon,” Hyunjin estimates, looking genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, but I’m running on fumes at this point—I had a pretty late night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jisung hurries to reassure him, “Minho hyung and I need to go interview the friend of Park Seoyeon-ssi anyway, so you’re not holding up the investigation.”

“That’s a relief,” Hyunjin sighs, dragging a hand over his face. Jisung manages to drag his attention away from the crime scene long enough to note for the first time the dark circles under his eyes and the way he’s yawning every few minutes.

“We should head back to the station,” Jisung suggests, feeling his own exhaustion hit him. “Did someone interview whoever found the body yet?”

“Felix did, since he was one of the first responders,” Minho chimes in. “He said he’d send us his notes after he’s typed them up.”

“Perfect,” Jisung says, managing a weak smile. “Let’s go, then—I really need some coffee.”

He dozes for a while on the ride back to the station. It’s by no means a peaceful sleep, punctuated by visions of the two crime scenes he’s seen so far—Park Seoyeon, holding her heart out in her hands in offering and this newest man, surrounded by a ring of death. Jisung jolts awake once the dream transitions to a pair of piercing eyes, a question in them that he can’t even begin to understand.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Jisung jerks guiltily at the sound of Minho’s voice. “Nothing,” he stammers, caught off guard.

Minho eyes him suspiciously from his position in the driver’s seat. “You know, I only asked that to be polite, but your reaction has me curious.”

“Really, I don’t remember,” Jisung insists. “How long have I been out?”

“About thirty minutes,” Minho says, choosing to ignore Jisung clumsily changing the subject. “We’re almost at the station, so don’t fall asleep again.”

“God, I need coffee,” Jisung groans, stretching as best he can in his seat. The dream is already fading from his memory—all he can really remember is dark, lidded eyes.

Minho hums in agreement as he pulls into the station parking lot and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on,” he says, nudging Jisung’s shoulder. “Hopefully someone will have brought real coffee instead of that sludge we usually get.”

Unfortunately, all there is at the station is the cheap instant coffee Chief Im favors. Jisung sips unhappily on it as he reviews Felix’s transcript of the interview with the person who called in the body.

“Of course this witness doesn’t know anything,” he sighs. “Hey, hyung, isn’t it a little suspicious that someone was coincidentally walking around this park at midnight to find the body?”

“If this—” Minho checks Felix’s notes— “Lee Daehwi-ssi was the killer, I doubt he would have stuck around to be interviewed by the police.”

Jisung spins around in his desk chair. “You’re right, it’s just—something doesn’t seem right about the interview. I don’t know, maybe it’s that he’s too calm?”

“I know what you mean,” Minho agrees, “but a gut feeling isn’t enough to detain him or get a warrant. Do you want to go visit Yang Jeongin instead?”

“We might want to wait a little before we do that,” Jisung replies, hiding a yawn behind his hand. It’s barely five in the morning, much too early to knock on someone’s door.

They end up waiting in the station, discussing theories about the killer, until around eight. Jisung is of the opinion that they can’t make any determinations about motive until they identify the second body and find similarities between the victims, but Minho insists on speculating.

“I think your theory about the children’s rhyme is convincing,” he says as Jisung looks up Jeongin’s address so they can go interview him. “I’m not sure why the killer would hint so blatantly at it with the note, though.”

Jisung blows out a breath pensively. “They have a habit of thinking the police are a lot dumber than them,” he points out, and Minho nods in agreement. “To be fair to them, none of us figured it out until we read that note.”

“I just don’t really understand why he would want us to understand it in the first place.”

“Serial killers want to be _seen_ ,” Jisung says softly. “That’s why so many of them get caught—they let the desire to be recognized for their art overwhelm their desire to not get caught.”

“Art?” Minho repeats, brow furrowing. Jisung realizes belatedly that his tone had almost been reverent when speaking about murders.

“That’s what they see it as,” he says quickly. “That’s why there’s so much symbolism in the crime scenes—they think they’re artists.”

He jots down Jeongin’s address on a slip of paper and beckons Minho to come with him to the car. On the way out, he passes Hwang Hyunjin, who’s looking at him with an unfathomable expression. Jisung notes with a shiver that his eyes look exactly like the ones from his dream.

Yang Jeongin’s house is close to Park Seoyeon’s old address—they even pass the apartment complex they’d visited yesterday on their way there. It’s a well-kept single-story home, brown brick with trimmed grass and a small fence around the perimeter of the front yard. When Jisung rings the doorbell, the man who invites them in looks to be in his mid-twenties, with smiling eyes that go wide with shock when Jisung tells him the news.

“Seoyeon—she—” he gasps from his position on the couch opposite to the two detectives, trembling so hard he almost falls off it.

“Jeongin-ssi, breathe with me,” Minho orders calmly, going immediately to the younger man’s side and taking several long, deep breaths for him to mimic. Eventually, Jeongin picks up the mug of tea he’d been nursing when they’d arrived with shaking hands and takes a long sip.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shamefaced.

“Don’t apologize,” Jisung says. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions about your friend, if you don’t mind. Take as long as you need,” he adds, when it looks like Jeongin is about to force himself to answer immediately.

They sit in silence for a while, punctuated only by Jeongin’s deep breathing and sips of tea.

“Okay,” Jeongin says after around five minutes. “What do you want to know?”

“When did you last speak to Seoyeon-ssi?” Jisung asks first.

“Maybe a little more than a week ago?” Jeongin estimates, hands wobbly as he sets his mug down on the table. “We went out for lunch, because she was upset and needed someone to talk to.”

“Why was she upset?” Jisung presses. When Jeongin looks reluctant, he adds, “Any information you can give us right now may be able to help us bring her killer to justice.”

“She fought with her parents again,” Jeongin says reluctantly, like every word is being dragged out of him. “She went with them to church that morning, and something must have happened to upset her—she wasn’t very forthcoming with the details.”

Minho and Jisung share a significant look. “We spoke to Park Seojun-ssi yesterday,” Minho tells Jeongin. “He said that he hasn’t had contact with her since she was...”

“Kicked out,” Jeongin completes, looking confused. “I don’t know why he would lie about that, but Seoyeon was definitely with her family very recently.”

“Why did she want to meet with her family again?”

Jeongin wraps his fingers more tightly around his mug. “Seoyeon and her fiancée—” he starts, then looks taken aback when Jisung and Minho make identical startled expressions. “You didn’t know about her being engaged?”

When they both shake their heads, Jeongin explains, “They weren’t planning to get married here, of course. Seoyeon wanted to legally get married in America and hold a ceremony here, with all their friends and family. She wanted her family to come, for some reason,” he spits, and it’s clear he holds no shortage of hatred for Mr. and Mrs. Park. “They said no, obviously, and she decided to go to church with them in hopes of convincing them.”

This story is connecting upsettingly well with the crime scene—Park Seoyeon offering her heart up in a church, her prayers ultimately rejected.

“Who else would have known about all this?” Jisung asks. He doesn’t suspect Jeongin, not after the way he’d reacted to the news of her death, but the killer had to have had intimate knowledge of Seoyeon’s circumstances to construct the crime scene in a manner so disconcertingly accurate.

Jeongin furrows his brows in thought. “Only her fiancée, I think. Seoyeon wouldn’t have told anyone other than me, and I think I remember her asking her fiancée to keep the details of her family quiet, so as to avoid embarrassing them further.”

Jisung takes a deep breath. “Can I ask why you didn’t call in her disappearance earlier, if the last time you saw her was a week ago? We had to do fingerprint analysis to identify her body.”

Jeongin’s hands spasm violently around the mug, and he places it back down on the table carefully. “She does this all the time,” he says quietly, looking into the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup. “She goes pretty much off the grid a lot, and she’s really bad at responding to texts. At one point, I went almost two weeks without hearing anything from her, so I didn’t really worry when she didn’t respond to my text after we hung out. I didn’t think—”

His breathing is starting to get uneven again, and Minho coaches him through evening it out.

“I’m sorry, Jeongin-ssi,” Jisung says, knowing it’s not much help. “We just have a few more questions for you, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Go ahead,” Jeongin says weakly, dragging a hand over his face. It looks like he’s aged ten years since they arrived, the bags under his eyes pronounced.

“We were told they recently moved in together,” Jisung says apprehensively, not wanting to upset Jeongin again. “Do you have any idea why her fiancée didn’t call her disappearance in?”

Jeongin shakes his head wordlessly. “I can give you her address so you can go interview her yourself,” he offers, looking around for pen and paper.

“That would be perfect,” Jisung says gratefully.

Once they’ve procured the fiancée’s name—Kim Eunhae—and address, Jeongin shows them out with a request to keep him updated on the investigation.

“If there’s anything at all I can do to help find whoever killed Seoyeon, please let me know,” he says, looking them both in the eye.

“Of course,” Jisung promises insincerely. There’s no way that they can drag a civilian into a homicide investigation, especially one with a personal connection to the victim. Nonetheless, it’s enough to placate Jeongin, who lets them go with a murmured goodbye.

“Thoughts on Jeongin-ssi?” Minho asks as he slides into the driver’s seat of the cruiser.

“Absolutely innocent,” Jisung says with conviction. “Either that, or he’s the best actor in the world.”

“I agree,” Minho says, putting in Kim Eunhae’s address into his phone. “This fiancée, though, I’m not sure about—I have no idea why she wouldn’t call in the disappearance.”

Their visit to Eunhae’s apartment is anticlimactic—though Jisung rings the doorbell three times, no one answers the door. “I guess we’ll just call, then,” he says as they drive back to the station. He’s guiltily relieved—it’s already one, and he hasn’t eaten anything since last night. This will give them the opportunity to take a lunch break.

When they arrive at the station, Hyunjin is waiting for them. “I identified the victim,” he says, handing them a file. “I also ordered lunch for the station, but it got cold—do you want me to heat it up?”

“Yes, please,” Jisung says, maybe a little too desperately judging by the way Hyunjin’s eyes crinkle. “We’ll take a look at this victim after we eat—thank you for your hard work.”

“It was nothing,” Hyunjin demurs, voice fading away as he heads to the microwave in the corner. “It’s just standard fingerprinting work, nothing too difficult.”

He hands them each a carton of Chinese takeout after a few minutes, drenched in soy sauce. Jisung digs in immediately after thanking him, setting the file to the side to look at later. As he eats, he thinks he feels Hyunjin’s eyes on him, but when he looks up, the other man is typing away on his laptop busily. It must be his imagination, then.

Once he’s done, he trashes the empty carton and picks up the file. Im Sanghoon is a third-year university student at Seoul National University, judging from his age and address. Though there isn’t that much more information included in the file, it does contain the cause of death—another slit throat—and a list of surviving relatives. Jisung privately deflates at the thought of having to break more bad news.

A thought occurs to him. “Hyunjin-ssi, did you happen to notice anything strange about Sanghoon-ssi’s health when you were performing the autopsy?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Of course, I also didn’t do the most thorough examination I could have done.”

Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair and placing the file on his face. “What I don’t understand about these murders,” he says, voice muffled, “is how the killer is getting in close to slit their throats. You didn’t mention any trace of knockout drugs like chloroform in their systems, and there’s no evidence of a struggle or the use of restraints.”

“That is strange,” Minho agrees, finishing his own carton. “I suppose we should go inform the surviving relatives of Sanghoon-ssi’s death now.” He looks like he’s dreading it as much as Jisung is.

“Thank you for the food,” Jisung says to Hyunjin, who hums in response as the detectives make their way back to the car for the third time.

Mr. and Mrs. Im are understandably distraught when informed of their son’s death—apparently, they’d started to worry when he missed their call the day before, but hadn’t made a missing persons report because they thought he’d just been busy.

“Whatever you need to know,” Mrs. Im promises, clasping Jisung’s hands desperately in her own. Mr. Im, standing behind her, puts a hand on her shoulder and nods solemnly at the two detectives.

“Was your son acting oddly in the weeks before his death?” Jisung asks once they’ve been ushered into the living room.

Mrs. Im frowns in thought. “Actually, as soon as he went back to school a few months ago, he got a lot more reserved and sometimes refused to visit us on the weekends. We just thought that he was stressed about school, so we didn’t push it.”

“Did he normally hide his problems from you, or did he usually share them?”

“Sanghoon shared everything with us,” Mrs. Im says firmly. “He knew that we’d always support him, no matter what. After he came out to us, we made it very clear that he would always be our son.”

“Came out?” Jisung echoes, eyebrows shooting up. If this is the connection between victims—

“Sanghoon came out to everyone when he was sixteen,” she explains. “We told him unambiguously that he could share his problems with us, and he did.”

“What sorts of problems did he share?” Jisung asks.

Mrs. Im’s face shutters, and she leans in, as if she’s about to share confidential information. “His classmates didn’t have the best reactions after he came out, and he was bullied pretty badly. Eventually, we took it to the school’s authorities and it stopped.”

Jisung grimaces. He’s had enough experience with distraught teenagers to guess that the bullying didn’t stop—it probably morphed into something more subtle, and all the harsher for it.

Mrs. Im must read some of his thoughts on his face, because she reaches out to grasp at her husband’s arm for support. “Could it be possible that he hid it from us, after then?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung says honestly. It seems like a lot to speculate off of very little information, and it’s no use making assumptions about their victims’ profiles to make them fit each other. “Did your son usually not communicate as much when he was in school?”

“No,” Mr. Im answers for his wife, gripping her hand tightly. “The first two years, he always visited every weekend and called twice every week like clockwork.”

Jisung jots it down, along with a reminder to interview Sanghoon’s friends about a possible bully. He and Minho run through a few more perfunctory questions, but find no more potential leads as to a motive behind the murder.

“Thank you very much for your time, and I’m sorry for your loss once again,” Minho says, bowing deeply to the Ims as they prepare to leave. He winces slightly as he stands up, hand fluttering briefly to his stomach before falling to his side. “We’ll keep you updated on when you can claim the body for funeral proceedings.”

Mrs. Im gets teary-eyed again, and Jisung can catch a glimpse of her crumpling into her husband’s arms before the door shuts behind them.

“That was fun,” Minho says dryly, leading the way to the car.

Jisung eyes him suspiciously as they get into their respective seats. “I saw you wince when you stood up from your bow.”

“My stomach has been feeling weird since lunch,” Minho sighs. “It’s nothing serious, probably just indigestion.”

Though Jisung is unconvinced, he decides to let it go. If Minho’s stomach ache gets any worse, he’ll force him to the hospital himself.

They go to interview Sanghoon’s roommate next, a gangly man in his mid-twenties who goes pale with shock when he learns of his friend’s murder. He’s about as helpful as Mr. and Mrs. Im when it comes to finding a motive, listing off several strange behaviors that may have been signs of emotional distress but could just as easily be explained away as school stress. The rest of Sanghoon’s friends know even less, and Jisung and Minho return to the station disappointed with a wasted afternoon.

“Detectives,” Hyunjin greets them as they’re about to clock out. “Do you two want to have dinner with me? I’d like to get to know my new colleagues better.” His smile crinkles the edges of his eyes, and to his horror Jisung can feel himself flushing dark red.

“Sure,” he says, proud of himself for not stuttering on the word.

“I’m actually not feeling well,” Minho says apologetically, and Jisung immediately takes back every nice thought he’s had about his partner, who takes one look at Jisung’s face and muffles a snicker with a well-timed cough. “I hope you two have fun, though.”

Hyunjin and Jisung decide on a barbeque place that’s a short walk from the station. Though the conversation is a little stilted at first, given that they’re practically strangers, Jisung finds himself relaxing in Hyunjin’s company as they walk.

“What are your main theories on the investigation so far?” Hyunjin wonders, tugging his knit scarf up to protect his face from the biting wind.

“Well, the most clear connection between the victims right now is that both were gay, but I still don’t think that this killer is homophobic per se,” Jisung says thoughtfully.

Hyunjin hums in agreement as they duck into the warm restaurant. In short order, they’re seated in a cozy corner and have ordered their first round of meat. It comes quickly, and for a while they’re both preoccupied with grilling.

Once they’ve polished off their first order, Jisung continues their conversation from earlier. “Like I said earlier, killers who slit their victims’ throats don’t usually commit their murders out of hatred for the people they kill. If anything, the construction of the crime scenes makes me think that this killer holds a deep level of respect for his victims, to turn them into his artwork.”

“I heard you talking to Minho-ssi about that earlier,” Hyunjin confesses, leaning in. Jisung is briefly distracted by his long, dark eyelashes. “I was wondering, why do you consider murders art? Most people might call them exactly the opposite.”

Despite the nature of his words, Hyunjin’s tone is free of judgement. Jisung finds himself saying honestly, “I don’t know, it’s just that some of them are just—beautiful, in their own strange way.” At Hyunjin’s encouraging nod, he finds himself emboldened to continue. “It’s not all murders, obviously—some are done completely without finesse—but I don’t know, there’s just something about the amount of thought that goes into each crime scene in this case that’s a little impressive.”

“The nursery rhyme,” Hyunjin offers. His eyes are bright in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

“Exactly,” Jisung says, smiling a little sheepishly. “I know it sounds really weird, but I find the way the killer set up that scene to be quite beautiful.”

“It is a little weird, by society’s standards,” Hyunjin says honestly, reaching across the table to clasp Jisung’s hands. “But you shouldn’t use those as the standard for your own morality or aesthetics. People used to think that blatant discrimination was perfectly fine, after all.”

When Jisung doesn’t respond, too preoccupied with the feeling of Hyunjin’s warm hands enveloping his own, he continues. “Instead of basing your judgement of right and wrong off what other people say is moral, you should follow your instincts. I’ve found that they never lead me astray.”

“If that works for you,” Jisung says a little dubiously. Though it doesn’t sound like sound psychological advice, for some reason he’s inclined to believe what Hyunjin says when he looks at him like that.

They order another round of meat and turn to lighter topics, like Hyunjin’s favorite books and the shows Jisung has been watching. It’s a little disconcerting for Jisung, who normally doesn’t warm up to people quickly, but it feels like he’s known Hyunjin his whole life.

Once Hyunjin’s paid for their meal, they linger for a little outside the restaurant talking. Jisung feels warm despite the snow landing in his hair.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung says in a fit of braveness. The other man looks almost ethereal, bathed from behind by the light from the restaurant. He has snowflakes in his eyelashes, and Jisung is seized with a sudden urge to gently brush them off.

“Hm?” Hyunjin hums in response, distracted by his efforts to blink his vision clear.

“Do you want to go out for drinks now?” Jisung says quickly before he can second-guess himself. His face falls when Hyunjin shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, Jisung,” he says, a frown twisting his lips as he speaks. “I’m busy tonight—maybe another time? You should go home and get some rest, haven’t you been up since late last night?”

Now that he mentions it, the exhaustion hits Jisung like a brick, and he slumps in place wearily. “That’s a good point,” he concurs. “Maybe after work someday?”

“That sounds perfect,” Hyunjin agrees enthusiastically. “Are you also going back to the station? I’ll walk you back, since my car’s over there too.”

They make small talk on the way back, and Jisung’s about ready to head home when Hyunjin stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, grip is firm and warm even through the layer of Jisung’s puffy winter coat. “I just wanted to say I had fun tonight. Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course,” Jisung promises, and Hyunjin’s face lights up with a smile.

“Be safe driving home,” he says, and the warmth his parting grin brings stays in the pit of Jisung’s stomach all the way back to his apartment.

* * *

The next few days are relatively lowkey. Jisung and Minho interview a few of Sanghoon’s acquaintances who might know something and call Kim Eunhae—Seoyeon’s fiancée—a few times, all to no avail. Finally, they decide to visit Eunhae’s apartment again and see if she’s just changed her number.

When they arrive at the complex, they’re ushered in by a frantic-looking landlord who clasps Minho’s hands in his own desperately. “I was just about to call the police—Eunhae-ssi just—she wasn’t answering her phone so I went in her apartment to check on her and—”

“Calm down, sir,” Minho says soothingly, trying and failing to make eye contact with the panicking man. “Is there something wrong with Kim Eunhae-ssi?”

“Wrong?” the landlord gasps incredulously. He’s so loud that he’s drawing tenants on the first floor to the lobby to investigate. “To say the least! Eunhae-ssi is d-dead, officers.”

Jisung sobers up immediately. “Please take us to her apartment,” he says, pulling out his radio to call for forensics and an investigative team. “Everything’s alright,” he directs at the tenants, who have begun to look frightened themselves. “Remain calm and in your apartments.”

“What’s happened to Eunhae?” one of them, an elderly woman, demands, shaking her cane as best she can at them.

“I’m afraid we don’t know either,” Minho placates as the landlord leads them to the elevator. “Please stay in your apartments until we have secured the scene.”

Though the woman says something else, they’ve already entered the elevator. The landlord takes this opportunity to take a few calming breaths. Jisung notes dispassionately that they don’t seem to be having much effect—his complexion remains pallid and drenched in sweat.

When they arrive on the third floor, Jisung smells it before he sees it—Eunhae’s apartment is the one right next to the elevator, and there is a distinct scent coming from inside.

“Blood,” he murmurs to Minho, who looks grim.

“Do you have the key?” he asks the landlord, who nods bravely and steps forward to unlock the door.

Once the door is open, the smell is even stronger, and the landlord quickly backs out of the room, gagging. Minho looks like he wants to do the same, judging by his expression, but Jisung—

Jisung is captivated.

It’s beautiful, he thinks, almost saying it aloud before he remembers himself. But what other word could there be to describe the scene in front of his eyes?

Kim Eunhae’s body is leaning against the wall across from them, aided by a few ultrathin wires which hold her arms out to the sides, as if she’s been crucified. Jisung takes in the rest of the scene with a glance—the same flowers, asphodels, have been placed in a direct line from the body to the door—but soon finds his focus returning to her eyes.

They’re blank with death, but something about them gives off a feeling of serenity and peace with the world that Jisung almost envies. Eunhae’s mouth is set in a small, close-lipped smile that matches the look in her eyes but is distressingly incongruous with the blood surrounding her.

“This isn’t like the killer’s other murders,” Minho says, having composed himself. Jisung guiltily tears his attention away from Eunhae’s body and towards his partner again. “There’s quite a bit more blood present, for one, and the previous two victims were found in public places. If their modus operandi’s shifting—”

“—they could be escalating,” Jisung finishes. The landlord, behind them, lets out a quiet squeak of fright that has them both turning to face him. “Sir, we would appreciate it greatly if you went back to the lobby for the time being. Someone will be here to take your statement soon.”

The landlord nods silently, already pressing the button to call the elevator. Once he’s gone, Jisung makes to enter the room to investigate, but Minho pulls him back by his sleeve. “Hey, we can’t go in until all the forensics people have finished taking pictures and evidence,” he points out, looking a little worried. “Are you okay? It’s not like you to forget protocol like this.”

Truthfully, Jisung has been feeling a little off ever since getting a glimpse of the first victim, but he shakes his head regardless. “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he lies. It must be enough to convince Minho, who just clicks his tongue disapprovingly and lets the matter drop.

The investigative team arrives in short order, and Jisung and Minho are forced to sit to the side while they wait for them to finish. To pass the time, they start bouncing theories off one another.

“Could this just be a convenience kill?” Jisung wonders. “It makes sense for him to be able to attack both members of a couple at the same time, but this killer doesn’t seem like the type of person who would select his victims based on convenience.”

Minho hums in agreement, fiddling with the buttons on his uniform pensively. “If they were both attacked at once, why was Sanghoon-ssi’s body found in between? That’s what doesn’t make sense to me.”

“He could be abducting them and keeping them alive temporarily while he plans the murder,” Jisung proposes. “That narrows our suspect pool quite a bit, since we’d only be looking for people with the means to transport and keep people discreetly—probably someone without a lot of neighbors?”

“That’s just conjecture,” Minho says, though he looks thoughtful. “We shouldn’t make assumptions based on so little evidence.”

Jisung blows out a puff of breath. He knows his partner is right, but something in his gut tells him that their killer isn’t creating these scenes spontaneously—every aspect of the murder seems to have a purpose, and that kind of meticulous attention to detail can’t come from someone who kills based on opportunity. If only they had more evidence, maybe more information about the victims’ whereabouts so they could pin down a probable time of disappearance— 

“I think I have an idea,” he says, feeling a grin stretch over his face. “We can use the press to our advantage for once.”

“That’s playing with fire,” Minho accuses, but he can’t resist his own matching smile at finally being able to take advantage of the nosy journalists that inevitably end up sniffing around high-profile cases like serial murders. “Are you thinking who I’m thinking?”

Their conversation gets cut off by a newly hired investigator telling them that they can go take a look at the scene themselves, but Jisung knows what his partner is thinking. Kim Seungmin, one of the most persistent journalists Jisung’s ever had the dubious pleasure of being interviewed by, will be the perfect choice to break this story.

Once the investigative team is done documenting the crime scene, Minho and Jisung are allowed to take a look at the evidence. Normally, they’d head back to the station and wait for the official coroner’s report, but something tells Jisung that they’d be better off checking it out for themselves.

Eunhae’s body is exactly as Jisung last saw it, the expression on her face still disturbingly serene. He finds himself envying her peace before catching himself, shaking his head sharply to snap himself out of it. Minho shoots him a curious look but doesn’t comment, instead surveying the apartment as a whole.

“There are signs of a struggle,” he says, pointing at a shattered plate on the ground next to the kitchen island. “Do you think she tried to fight back? That’s not exactly consistent with the other victims.”

Jisung hums in agreement, leaning in closer to Eunhae’s body to examine her fingernails. He winces at the smell of death that has enveloped her form. “It doesn’t look like she tried to scratch her attacker, though—maybe he surprised her and she dropped the plate?”

He straightens, gaze catching on several red marks on Eunhae’s wrists. “Rope burns,” he mumbles, reaching out a gloved hand to gently lift up her arms. “Hyung, look at these—we didn’t find anything similar on the other victims, right?”

“The others all showed no sign of resisting,” Minho confirms, brow furrowing. “This seems like support for your theory that he’s keeping them captive before killing them, though—he would have no reason to tie her up if he was just going to kill her here.”

Jisung feels a misplaced rush of vindication. “None of the others showed evidence of rope burns, though,” he points out, in the interest of being thorough.

Minho shakes his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s too farfetched to say that his initial target was the first victim—Park Seoyeon—since she was the first one found and she showed no sign of defensive injuries. He might have planned out her murder, then happened upon Kim Eunhae-ssi and abducted her too, since they live together.”

He blinks for a second, as if surprised at his own willingness to speculate. “Of course, this is almost completely unfounded, and we should wait for more evidence to finalize our theories.”

“Of course,” Jisung echoes, though he feels the ring of truth from Minho’s words. “We should go talk to Kim Seungmin—I think that might be the only way to get that evidence.”

Leaving the building is a bit of an ordeal. Since the forensics team has left, taking with them a large part of the police force present, most of the residents have deemed it safe to congregate in the hallways. The whispers of curiosity follow him and Minho as they make their way out, and some of the braver ones try to stop them to question them on the situation directly. A stern look from Minho makes them back off, but Jisung’s still a little twitchy when they finally get in the car.

“You okay?” Minho asks, patting the back of Jisung’s hand in comfort.

“Fine,” he says, slumping a little in the passenger seat and trying to keep his breath steady. “Just a little too many people. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

Minho doesn’t press it any further and just starts driving. His hand remains on Jisung’s, though, warm in a way that grounds him to reality, reminds him to breathe.

“Thanks,” Jisung says eventually, shooting Minho a wan smile. It’s not the first time he’s been overwhelmed while they’re on patrol together, but every time he’s amazed by the way Minho takes his anxiety in stride like it’s nothing.

Predictably, he just shakes his head. “You’d do the same for me,” he says, and not for the first time Jisung is overcome with a rush of affection for his partner.

Instead of leaning over and hugging Minho—he’s driving, after all—Jisung silently reaches out and turns on the radio, flipping through the channels until he gets to Minho’s favorite, one that only plays songs that were popular five years ago. Though Jisung personally hates it with a passion, he feels his lips twitch up into an unwilling smile at the way Minho’s eyes light up and he dances a little in his seat.

They spend the rest of the drive there like that, Jisung trying not to cringe at every new song that comes on and Minho resisting singing along. When the window-lined walls of the _Chronicle_ ’s headquarters come into sight, Jisung breathes a sigh of relief that has Minho holding in a snicker at his expense.

“We’re here,” he announces unnecessarily as Minho pulls into the parking lot and turns off the ignition. Jisung lingers in the car for a second, trying to put off entering the building as long as possible—he always hates talking to reporters.

“Come on,” Minho says, nudging Jisung in the ribs with an elbow gently. “We need Seungmin-ssi’s cooperation to break this story.”

Jisung groans in mock protest. “It’s just that he’s so damn _persistent_ ,” he complains as Minho urges him out of the car and into the building. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to control the details of this story completely.”

Minho shrugs, as laid-back about this aspect of the job as ever. “I cleared what we’re allowed to release to the public with the chief earlier, so everything else we can just say we’re not at liberty to disclose.”

“Easier said than done,” Jisung grumbles, crossing his arms as they approach the receptionist. “Hello, we’d like to speak to Kim Seungmin, if he’s available.”

“I’ll call him,” the receptionist says, attention more on her computer screen than on the two of them. “Who should I tell him is asking for him?”

“Detectives Han Jisung and Lee Minho,” Jisung responds, and she nods absently. “Please give me a second, sirs.”

Jisung and Minho back off and take seats in the waiting area of the lobby. It’s well-decorated, and Jisung picks up one of the magazines lying on a side table for lack of anything else to do with his hands.

“Doesn’t this seem more like a dentist’s waiting room than the lobby of a newspaper’s headquarters?” Minho whispers conspiratorially, and Jisung muffles a very unprofessional snort.

“I keep feeling like an assistant is about to call me in for my cavity filling,” he replies. Minho opens his mouth to respond, probably to make fun of Jisung’s dental habits, but is interrupted by the opening of the door to the journalists’ offices.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Kim Seungmin says, shaking their hands politely. Combined with the sharp eyes dissecting their every move, the words feel like a mere formality. “What did you want to discuss with me?”

“We have a story you may be interested in,” Minho says, and a spark of interest lights in Seungmin’s eyes.

“Come with me to my office,” he says, and doesn’t even wait for a response before he turns around and disappears behind that door, confident they’ll follow.

* * *

“What’s this lead you mentioned?” Seungmin questions once they’re safely ensconced in the privacy of his office. He’s leaning against his desk, posture faux-casual.

Jisung hums, considering how best to put the situation. “I don’t know if you’ve heard the rumors going on about a string of unsolved murders in the city, but suffice it to say we need to control the flow of information about this case before it spirals out of control.”

The rumors are really getting bad—yesterday, he’d been accosted in the hallway of his apartment by a nosy neighbor wondering if what he’d heard about a new serial killer was true.

“I have heard,” Seungmin confirms, crossing his arms and pinning Jisung with a piercing look. “Why, exactly, are two detectives coming to me to break the story? Shouldn’t this involve our higher-ups?”

“We’ve already cleared it with the chief, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Minho says. “We came to you mostly because in both of our experiences, you’re easier to work with than most journalists, and you have a commitment to the truth.”

“No need for flattery,” Seungmin says, rolling his eyes, but Jisung can see the way the corners of his mouth twitch up involuntarily. “Let’s get to business. What information am I allowed to know?”

Explaining the details of the case to Seungmin takes the better part of the afternoon, thanks in part to his constant probing questions. When they’re finally done, Seungmin leans back in the chair he’s migrated to over the course of their discussion with a satisfied sigh.

“That should give me plenty of material to work with,” he says, twirling his pen around his fingers absentmindedly. “Do you have any other stipulations about the story? I can’t promise I’ll follow them all exactly, but I assume you’d like to have some say in how it’s presented.”

“If you could include the number of our tip line, that would be perfect,” Minho says. “It’s starting to get time-consuming, interviewing everyone with any connection to the victims.”

Seungmin nods thoughtfully. “Is there any information you’re looking for specifically?”

Jisung leans forward, lowering his voice out of habit. “We’re trying to establish a time of disappearance for two of them, but really any information would be helpful at this point. The perpetrator seems to have a habit of picking secretive victims.”

“I can do that,” Seungmin says, getting out of his chair and walking over to open the door. “Thank you for your time,” he says in clear dismissal. “I’ll contact you if I have any other questions.”

“Do you think that was a good idea?” Jisung wonders once they’re back in the car, driving back to the station. “I mean, that just means more panic about the situation overall.”

“The story was going to break either way,” Minho points out reasonably. “This way, we can control the overall narrative around it, which probably minimizes panic.”

Jisung sighs in agreement. “I suppose so,” he says. “I guess we just have to wait until Seungmin-ssi’s story comes out to gauge the reaction, then.”

It’s a few more days of waiting before Jisung picks up the _Chronicle_ in the morning and is greeted by the headline, “String of Unsolved Murders Rocks City.” He pages through the article quickly and is relieved to discover that Seungmin hasn’t published anything unfavorable to the police’s reputation, instead sticking mostly to the script Jisung and Minho had laid out for him. At the bottom of the article is the district’s tip number along with a request for anyone with connections to the victims to come forward.

Before he closes the paper, Jisung finds himself rereading the section with each victim’s profile, fingers tracing gently over the black-and-white photographs of each one. He finds himself trying to put himself in the mind of the killer, reading this story in the paper and seeing the canvases for his art put on display for everyone to see—

Well. Jisung tosses the newspaper onto his kitchen table with a shudder, dragging his hands over his face to try to banish the foreign feeling of utter triumph that washes over him.

When he comes into work, Minho is already there, pacing around his desk as he listens to someone on the phone. He raises a finger to his lips when he sees Jisung walk in, attention turning back to whoever’s talking on the other end.

“He’s been put in charge of the tip line,” Hyunjin whispers, coming up from behind. He’s so close Jisung can feel the warmth of his breath on his ear, and he suppresses a flinch.

“I see,” he murmurs in response, turning so he can face the forensic analyst. “You seem like you’re in a good mood today.”

Hyunjin blinks. “I guess I am,” he says, like he’s realizing it himself for the first time. “My brother told me this morning that I’m going to be an uncle soon.”

“Congratulations!” Jisung enthuses, reaching out to clasp Hyunjin’s hands in his own. “That’s such good news!”

“It is,” Hyunjin agrees, gaze soft as he looks at their entwined hands. “I’ll have to take more shifts at the bar to help out once he takes more time to help out his wife, though.”

“The bar?” Jisung echoes. He hasn’t heard Hyunjin mention a second job before.

“Did I never tell you? I help out my brother sometimes at the bar he owns,” Hyunjin explains. “It’s why I’m tired at work sometimes—he needs an extra hand around the place during the night, most of the time.”

Jisung is pretty sure he can feel his eyes getting starry. “That’s so kind of you,” he says, feeling the small crush on Hyunjin he’s been nursing since they met grow. “You shouldn’t take on extra work if it’s too much for you, though—please pay attention to your health.”

“I will,” Hyunjin promises, laughing quietly so as to not disturb Minho. “Don’t worry about me, Jisung, I have a good idea of what I can handle.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Jisung says dubiously. He’s about to continue lecturing Hyunjin on the merits of taking a break to avoid burning out when Minho hangs up the phone and approaches the two of them.

“Hyunjin-ssi, I have to steal Jisung from you if you’re not in the middle of something,” he says, looking at their clasped hands. “New developments in the case.”

Jisung drops his gaze to follow Minho’s and flushes bright red, dropping Hyunjin’s hands like they’re burning him. “O-of course,” he says, and kicks himself for being flustered. “I’ll talk to you later, Hyunjin.”

“See you later,” Hyunjin says amusedly, raising a hand in goodbye as Jisung practically drags Minho out of his sight. As soon as they’re around the corner, he crosses his arms, pinning Minho with a petulant stare.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Minho protests, laughing at the annoyed expression on Jisung’s face. “I was just going to tell you that we just got a tip about Sanghoon-ssi.”

“Who’s this person?” Jisung wonders, already getting excited at the possibility of a new lead.

“A classmate of his, apparently,” Minho says. “I told him to come to the station so we can interview him—I figured you were also getting tired of driving around the city.”

“So now all we can do is wait, I suppose,” Jisung sighs, rubbing at his temples. “I know I shouldn’t be so impatient about this, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

The person who’d called into the tip line shows up half an hour later. “Sorry I took so long,” he says, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Oh Daewon, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Detectives Han Jisung and Lee Minho,” Jisung says politely, leading Daewon into an interrogation room to interview him. “Thank you for calling in.” He takes a seat across from the other man, readying his recorder and pen.

“Daewon-ssi, when and where did you last see Sanghoon-ssi?” Minho begins.

At the mention of Sanghoon’s name, Daewon’s face contorts into an ugly grimace. Jisung and Minho share a confused glance, agreeing silently to not bring it up for now. “We were at a bar in Gangnam. It was—god, I can’t remember—maybe two weeks ago? I never saw him around campus after that.”

“Two weeks?” Minho presses, leaning forward. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Daewon’s eyebrows furrow. “That should be around right,” he confirms. “I remember because I had a big paper due a few days later so I couldn’t go out after that.”

“What was your relationship with Sanghoon-ssi?” Jisung asks, filing away the abnormally long time between disappearance and death for later. “Why are you the only person who has called into the tip line?”

Daewon scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “We weren’t friends,” he says firmly. “I bumped into him at that bar by chance—I never would have gone out with him on purpose. We didn’t even talk for long since he decided to leave early.”

“What did you talk about at the bar?” Jisung’s not really sure where he’s going with this line of questioning, but he has a feeling that the relationship between Oh Daewon and Im Sanghoon is more important to the killings than he’d originally thought.

“Why do you want to know?” Daewon shoots back, hunching over defensively. The line of his shoulders is taut with tension.

“Daewon-ssi,” Minho begins placatingly, holding his hands in the air. “Any information you can give us might be much more useful than you think. At this moment, we have reason to believe that you were the last person to see Im Sanghoon alive.”

Daewon’s lips twist into a resentful frown, and Jisung doesn’t think they’re going to get anything more out of him for the moment.

"Why don't we let Daewon-ssi think about it for a few minutes?" he suggests, nudging Minho in the shoulder gently. "It may be that there's something important that he can't remember at the moment."

"Good idea," Minho agrees, nodding at Daewon as they leave the room. "What do you think?" he asks Jisung once they're safely out of earshot.

"I don't know," Jisung says, staring pensively at Oh Daewon's hunched-over form through the one-way glass. "I don't think he killed Sanghoon. Though some serial killers like injecting themselves into the investigation, he doesn't seem like the type to do so."

"He's not calculating enough," Minho agrees. "If he'd really killed Im Sanghoon, he'd lie, try to send us on a wild goose chase. At the very least, he'd be helpful enough for us to want to contact him again."

"Exactly," Jisung says, smiling faintly at his partner. "But if he isn't the killer, why does he seem so resentful toward Sanghoon-ssi? And why would he come forward?"

Minho sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's my question," he says. "It doesn't add up--he seems to have detested Sanghoon-ssi, but he's here voluntarily. We never would have found him otherwise."

"Think we've let him sweat enough yet?" Jisung wonders, watching as Daewon fidgets with his hands.

"Only one way to find out," Minho says, swinging open the door to the interrogation room.

"Did you remember anything new, Daewon-ssi?" Jisung asks, smiling pleasantly at the sitting man.

Daewon heaves a sigh. "I—what we talked about that night..." he starts, then trails off uncertainly.

"Yes?" Jisung prompts.

"He was drunk," Daewon begins. "He was talking to the bartender when I walked in. I swear I didn't mean to listen in—he was just being really loud and I couldn't help overhearing—"

He breaks off, drags a hand over his face, and appears to recompose himself. "He was completely out of it," he explains. "I'm sure he never would have complained about it otherwise, especially to a stranger."

"Complained about what?"

"He was sick," Daewon says, the words coming out in a large exhale. "It couldn't be cured—I think they'd only told him that day, so he went out and got drunk to try to make himself forget."

"Did he give any details?" Jisung asks.

"I went up to him and asked," Daewon sighs. "I'd never liked him that much. Did you know he was a fag?"

Jisung flinches almost-imperceptibly at the slur. "How is that relevant?" he says, voice a little colder than before.

"It’s disgusting, and I let him know that I thought that,” Daewon explains casually, shrugging as if it’s not a big deal. “So we never really got along. But when I saw him at that bar, alone and just crying to the bartender—well, I couldn’t really leave him to deal with it by himself if it was really bad. So I asked him what disease it was. You know what he said?”

“What?”

“AIDS,” he spits, his face contorting into a disgusted glower. “Can you believe it? Being gay literally was going to kill him.”

“What did you say?” Minho asks once he notices the tense line of Jisung’s shoulders.

“I… I was drunk. I told him he deserved it,” Daewon says, looking like the full weight of his words is just now hitting him. “He left after that, and then I didn’t see him the next day in our class together. Figured he was hiding in bed, but—you think someone got him after he left the bar?”

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“Honestly, I kind of forgot about it,” Daewon says. “But I figured he wouldn’t want anyone to know if he was in his right mind, you know? ‘S why I didn’t want to tell you, no offense detectives.”

“None taken,” Minho says pleasantly, though Jisung can see the way his fingers twitch as if longing to curl into a fist. “Thank you for your time, Daewon-ssi. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Of course,” Daewon says automatically, getting up to leave. Jisung and Minho walk him to the precinct doors, and he stops for a second.

“Detectives,” he says, fiddling with his watch. “I didn’t like Im Sanghoon, but he didn’t deserve to die, alright? Find that bastard who killed him and lock him up for good.”

“We’ll certainly do our best,” Minho says, smile more genuine this time. “Take care.”

After Daewon leaves, Jisung and Minho look at each other for a moment in silence.

"Didn't the forensics people say they didn't find any obvious diseases when they were examining Sanghoon-ssi?" Jisung says, bringing up the thing that's on both of their minds.

Minho frowns, rubbing his chin. "I guess it's not easily detected?" he suggests, though he looks doubtful. "It might be that you'd have to perform a specific test to find it."

"Maybe," Jisung hums, though he's unconvinced. "Do you remember who the medical examiner was for Sanghoon-ssi's body?"

"That would be me," Hyunjin says, coming up from behind Jisung. He's standing so close that Jisung can feel his body heat through his button-down. It's... distracting, to say the least. "Did you have any more questions?"

"The interview we just did has given us reason to believe that Sanghoon-ssi had a terminal disease," Minho explains. Jisung's not sure if he's imagining the slightly hostile tone of his voice. "Did you not find any sign of it when you were examining the body?"

Hyunjin frowns, casting back in his memory. "I don't believe so," he says thoughtfully. "I did only do a preliminary scan since I didn't have time to test thoroughly for every illness, though, so that might be why I didn’t find anything."

"That makes sense," Jisung agrees, shooting Hyunjin a small smile. He's not sure why Minho seems to be suspicious of Hyunjin, but the other man seems to have a pretty good explanation for why he hadn't found a trace of AIDS.

"You have my number if you have more questions about the bodies' medical history, and it's all available in the file," Hyunjin tells Minho, who nods.

“I think I’m going to head home for today,” Minho says, making a show of rubbing at his eyes in order to cover up the elaborate wink he sends Jisung.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, turning his attention to Jisung. "In that case, are you free to go for dinner? I found a new restaurant I'd like to try near here."

Jisung flushes but nods anyway. "I'd love to," he says, hoping that the wobble in his voice isn't noticeable if you're not looking for it. From the amused look Hyunjin sends him and the snort Minho barely muffles, it definitely is.

Since there are no new developments in the case for several days, Hyunjin and Jisung end up spending a lot of time together. A lot of it is just out of convenience, with the two of them stepping out to grab a bite to eat when they happen to be free at the same time or Jisung walking Hyunjin to and from the train station when the other has to leave for his shift at the bar, but eventually they start hanging out outside of work as well.

"Do you want to come with me tonight?" Hyunjin offers. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, looking at Jisung through his eyelashes. It's strangely endearing, like everything else Jisung notices about Hyunjin these days.

"To your shift at the bar? I'd love to," Jisung agrees immediately. The nerves he'd originally suffered from have all but disappeared thanks to the increased exposure of the past few days, so he’s not really afraid of embarrassing himself by interacting with Hyunjin for too long.

"It'd be a little boring for you, though," Hyunjin says regretfully. "You don't have to come if you have something better to do."

"That's okay," Jisung says cheerfully. "I was just going to go home and crash, anyway, and I'd like to see your other workplace."

The train pulls into the station, and Hyunjin takes Jisung's hand to pull him inside. The other man's hand is warm in his own, and Jisung has to consciously try not to combust on the spot. Once they're safely in the compartment, Hyunjin keeps hold of Jisung's hand, like he's forgotten he's holding it.

"My brother's bar is in Gangnam-gu," Hyunjin explains, "so it'll be kind of a long train ride. Sorry for the commute."

"That's oka—" Jisung starts, before the swaying of the train as it pulls into the next station sends him crashing into Hyunjin. The other man barely sways at all, and Jisung has to fight down the sudden wave of attraction at the strength that shows. "Sorry!" he squeaks, pulling away like he'd been shocked.

"Don't worry about it," Hyunjin laughs, pulling Jisung in closer until his back hits the other’s chest and wrapping his arms around him. "Here—I’ll hold you steady. I know it gets a little hard to balance in here sometimes, and you don't seem like the type to regularly ride public transportation."

Jisung may make another humiliating sound, but he’s too wrapped up in how safe he feels in Hyunjin’s arms to notice. He’s certain his entire face is bright red by now. "Sorry about this," he apologizes again, refusing to look Hyunjin in the eye.

"I'm the one who pulled you," Hyunjin points out, and Jisung can hear the laugh in his voice. "If you're not comfortable, though—”

"No," Jisung interrupts, probably a little too quickly from the way Hyunjin's eyes crinkle like he's suppressing a fond smile. "This is fine, I'm less likely to fall this way, I mean—"

"I know what you mean, Jisung," Hyunjin says, and Jisung subsides into embarrassed silence for the rest of the train ride. Once it gets less crowded, he tries his best to make his way out of Hyunjin's grasp, but the other's arms only tighten around him like he doesn’t notice.

Finally, Hyunjin releases Jisung and nudges him to get off the train. "It's just a little more this way," he says cheerfully, like he hasn't just spent the last thirty minutes practically spooning Jisung on a train.

Jisung, feeling like his brain has thoroughly broken, follows. Maybe it’d been a little too early to decide he wouldn’t be embarrassing himself tonight.

* * *

"Never seen you bring anyone here before, Hyunjin," the bartender says gruffly as they walk into the well-lit bar. Hyunjin laughs good-naturedly, taking it in stride.

"He's here to see where I work when I'm not at the station," he says cheerfully, slipping behind the bar to join his brother. "Hyung, this is Han Jisung."

"Nice to meet you," Jisung greets politely, taking the hand that's offered to him to shake. "I hope I'm not imposing."

"Nah," Hyunjin's brother dismisses. "Hwang Minhyuk, nice to meet you too. Hyunjin-ah, don't give him too many free drinks, okay? We have to make a profit somehow."

Hyunjin grins in the way that dimples his left cheek, and Jisung's traitorous heart beats just a little faster. "No promises! Shouldn't you go take care of my niece now?"

"I see where I'm not wanted," Minhyuk says, elbowing his brother in the ribs as he takes off his apron. "Jisung-ah, what're you waiting for?" he asks, and Jisung blinks at suddenly being addressed. "Go, sit down! Make yourself at home."

Jisung gamely sits, though he's a bit nonplussed at the sudden familiarity. "Thank you, Minhyuk-ssi," he says, not really sure what else to say.

"Call me hyung!” Minhyuk directs as he heads out the door. "Hyunjin-ah, don’t forget to call me later. It's been too long since we talked properly!"

Hyunjin rolls his eyes conspiratorially at Jisung once the door closes behind his brother. "He's just being dramatic. We talk at least once a week."

"Isn't that a little on the light side?" Jisung points out. "Where's your sense of brotherly love? I talk to my sister every other day."

"We're busy!" Hyunjin protests, bending to pick up a shot glass from underneath the counter. "Plus, I see him in person when I come in for my shifts, so it's really more than that."

"You're treating him like he's your boss," Jisung accuses, watching in fascination as Hyunjin expertly twirls several bottles of liquor seemingly for the express purpose of showing off. He says as much, and Hyunjin huffs out a laugh.

"Only the best for you," he says, sending Jisung a wink that sets his face aflame. He's probably best off not teasing Hyunjin so much if that's the reaction he'll get.

The bar gets busy quickly--they'd arrived just in time to catch the after-dinner crowd--and Hyunjin is a little too preoccupied doing his job to hold up much more of a conversation. Jisung doesn't mind—he's content to sit back, nurse his drink, and watch Hyunjin in what seems to be his element.

He's undeniably flirtatious, which would be a little upsetting if Jisung didn't have the experience in food service that he does. Sometimes, you do what you have to do to get good tips. Besides, the smiles Hyunjin sends the bar patrons all seem somewhat artificial, nothing like the dimpled one he'd sent Jisung earlier. Jisung isn’t proud of the smug feeling that induces in his chest.

Though Jisung is doing his best to project don't-talk-to-me vibes, people inevitably end up approaching him anyway. He manages to fend most of their advances off by bluntly rejecting them, but some just won't take a hint. Case in point—the man who's draped an arm over Jisung's shoulders in the first five minutes of talking to him.

"Are you here alone?" he asks, probably trying for husky but coming off as more congested than anything. Jisung pushes down the flare of annoyance from the unsolicited contact and gives his best polite smile.

"No, actually, and I'm supposed to leave with my friend tonight," he says pleasantly, tamping down on the urge to shrug the guy's arm off and escape. He's seen plenty of men like this one escalate to violence if things don't go their way, and while he's sure he could handle him, he doesn't exactly want to ruin his and Hyunjin's night with an arrest if he can avoid it.

"Aw, don't be like that," the man says, his other hand finding a place on Jisung's thigh—and nope, that's pretty much Jisung's limit. He jerks away, making the guy lose his balance and grab onto the bar to keep upright. He must be drunker than Jisung had initially assumed.

"Sorry, I'm not interested," Jisung says firmly, edging away from the man's wandering hands. "Why don't you go find someone else to harass?"

"You bitch," the man hisses, swinging his arm back for a punch. Before Jisung can get out of the way, the man's arm is twisted behind him and he's slammed face-first onto the wood of the bar.

"He's spoken for," Hyunjin hisses, and Jisung tries not to acknowledge the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach at the possessiveness in the other man's voice. "Get lost. If I have to tell you again, I'll be calling the police."

"Fine," the man says, groaning as Hyunjin releases his hold on his arm. "Could've just said you were taken," he grumbles at Jisung, slouching off to nurse his wounded pride.

"Thanks for that," Jisung tells Hyunjin, "but I could have handled it myself."

"I have no doubt of that," Hyunjin says, and Jisung wonders if he's imagining the satisfied glint in his eyes. "I would prefer to avoid bloodshed in my brother's bar, though. That'd probably be bad for business.”

The rest of the bar had fallen quiet at the sound of a face being smashed into a bar, but soon the chatter picks back up. "Is that common around here?" Jisung wonders, not really expecting a response since Hyunjin's gone back to making drinks.

"Sometimes people get a little handsy with others who don't want it," another patron tells him, grinning conspiratorially at him. "Hyunjin-ssi always deals with it, and they never do it again if they know what's good for them."

Jisung raises an eyebrow. "Is he always so..."

She winks at him. "Not usually, but he's also never brought anyone here during his shift before. Guess you're just a special case."

Trying not to flush, Jisung breaks eye contact to stare at his drink. The woman just laughs uproariously and slams down the rest of her own drink, patting him on the back. "For the record, you're a lucky man. Hyunjin-ssi is quite a catch."

Jisung agrees with her, but he can't quite bring himself to say so out loud. Instead, he downs the rest of his drink and raises his hand for Hyunjin to bring him another. Maybe if he drinks enough, he can manage to squash the warm feeling growing in his chest.

"You're completely trashed," Hyunjin comments once the bar has emptied out, running a hand through Jisung's tousled hair comfortingly. Jisung leans into the touch and just groans in response--he'd maybe overdone it with the drinking just a little, but could he really be blamed when every time Hyunjin mixed a drink his arm muscles flexed?

"'M so tired," Jisung complains, rubbing his face into the polished wood of the bar. "Let me sleep."

Hyunjin rubs the glass in his hand with a cleaning cloth contemplatively. "I could bring you home," he offers. "It's late, and I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving you on public transportation like this. My brother leaves his car parked here over the weekends, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"'S okay," Jisung protests, still sober enough to not want to inconvenience Hyunjin. "I'm a police officer, remember?" He breaks off to hiccup. "I can handle m'self."

Hyunjin pins him with a deadpan stare. "You're a drunk police officer, and I don't think you can even walk in a straight line. I'm taking you home," he says decisively, putting the glass down behind the bar and holding a hand out for Jisung to take.

Jisung doesn't want to admit it, but Hyunjin may have a point. "Fine," he grumbles, taking the proffered hand. "I could just call a taxi, you know."

"I can't trust you not to pass out in the back," Hyunjin says sharply. "No more objections from you, please. I don't mind taking you home."

Jisung doesn't think protesting further will get him anywhere, so he obligingly shuts up while Hyunjin wipes down the bar and leads him out to the parking lot. His brother's car is a serviceable dark van, and Jisung notes when he gets in that it smells strongly of bleach.

"You'd be surprised how many drunks my brother has to drive home," Hyunjin explains once he catches Jisung making a face at the smell. "He has to do a lot of cleanup."

Jisung makes an acknowledging noise and rests his head on the cool glass of the window, not really feeling up to more conversation. He puts his address in Hyunjin’s phone when it’s handed to him and promptly passes out.

He wakes the next morning with a killer headache and immediately buries his face into his pillow. Once he feels up to figuring out what happened the last night, he slowly sits up, wincing at the bright sunlight pouring into his bedroom, and spots two tablets of painkiller, a glass of water, and a neatly folded note sitting on his bedside table.

“What the hell?” he mumbles. His memory of last night is foggy, but he can’t see himself being thoughtful enough while blackout drunk to do his future self a favor.

Too tired to try to solve this mystery, Jisung gulps down the painkiller, drains the rest of the water, and collapses back into bed. He’ll deal with it later.

Jisung wakes up again a few hours later feeling significantly more human. Judging by the light filtering through his closed curtains, it’s a little past noon. He fumbles for the note on the nightstand and scans it quickly, ignoring the continued dull throb in his head.

_Jisung, I’m not sure how much of last night you remember, but I brought you home after my shift at the bar because you were too drunk to be safely let on public transportation. I apologize for letting myself in, but you were unconscious and your keys were in your pocket, so I thought it would be cruel to wake you up._

It takes a while for Jisung to figure out who could have written the note, but the memory of last night comes back to him—slowly, in pieces. He buries his face in his hands at the thought of Hyunjin having to drag his passed-out self home and immediately regrets the resulting pounding in his head.

When he unlocks his phone, there’s a missed message from Hyunjin, wondering if he’s feeling better by now. The timestamp is a few hours ago, so Jisung shoots off a thankful text back and makes a valiant effort to get out of bed. His first two attempts are unsuccessful, but the third time he manages to make it over to the kitchen counter and slump over it.

He’s not sure how long he spends resting his too-warm face on the cool stone, but it’s long enough for his phone, abandoned in the next room, to buzz several times in quick succession. When he’s feeling up to it, Jisung pushes himself off the counter to go investigate, but is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“I apologize for coming over without warning, but I figured you might not really be feeling up to cooking, just based on the state you were in last night,” Hyunjin says when Jisung opens the door, bleary-eyed. He holds up the bag of takeout in his hands like a peace offering.

“You’re my savior,” Jisung says, completely heartfelt. He relieves Hyunjin of his burden and waves him in to sit at the counter, flushing as he notices the fogged-up patch his cheek had created. Hyunjin doesn’t appear to notice, eyes concerned as he watches Jisung stumble around trying to pull out silverware and plates.

“Here, let me,” he offers, wrapping an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and steering him to the couch. “I’m worried you might hurt yourself.”

Jisung protests, but eventually ends up manhandled into lying down, an arm thrown over his eyes as he listens to the faint sounds of Hyunjin bustling about in the kitchen. It’s domestic, and that fact alone is slightly terrifying—there’s no way Hyunjin is unaware of the effect he has on Jisung’s emotions.

Hyunjin comes back over with two plates of takeout, gently nudging Jisung to sit up. They eat mostly in silence, punctuated only by the noises of happiness Jisung makes as he finally gets something substantial in his stomach.

“I really can’t thank you enough,” Jisung says, muffling a yawn behind his hand. “You didn’t have to go out of your way to take care of me, though.”

Hyunjin busies himself with tidying up their plates, eyes crinkling as he smiles fondly at Jisung. “Don’t worry about it. I should have been watching you more closely last night so you didn’t get as drunk as you did.”

Well. In an indirect way, Jisung’s state _had_ been Hyunjin’s fault, but he’s certainly not going to explain to him exactly how. “Thank you anyway. I really appreciate it,” he says instead, getting up to help Hyunjin clean.

“I should get going,” Hyunjin says once they’re done, shouldering on his coat and scanning Jisung’s apartment for anything he might have left behind. “Let me know if you’re not feeling well though,” he says, pressing a warm hand to Jisung’s forehead and leaning in to take a look at his flushed face. “You look a little red.”

“I will,” Jisung practically squeaks, and he knows he’s not imagining the flash of amusement in Hyunjin’s eyes at the flustered response. “Please drive safely!”

Once Hyunjin has been ushered out and the door locked behind him, Jisung collapses with his back against it like a teenager, buries his face in his hands, and muffles a distressed scream.

In the next few days, Hyunjin seems to be around more than ever. He’s peering over Jisung’s shoulder as he reviews a case file, breath fanning over his ear and making him shiver. He’s inviting Jisung out for lunch and offering to pay. He’s bringing Jisung a coffee just the way he likes it. It’s all so distracting that Jisung nearly forgets that he’s supposed to be working on solving a string of murders.

That brief peace is shattered by a phone call that comes in the late afternoon, when Jisung’s shift is almost over. He picks it up without thinking, and almost drops it when he registers the panicked voice on the other line, reporting a murder in the same cathedral that the first victim had been found in.

“Hyung, we have to go,” he says to Minho, grabbing his bag and sprinting to the car.

Unlike the first time they’d been to the cathedral, the street outside is bustling with civilians. Jisung and Minho push their way through the throng of onlookers, flashing their badges to clear a path. “The body was found in the afternoon,” Jisung comments once they’ve made their way inside, ducking under caution tape. “It seems as if the killer is getting braver.”

“Well, we haven’t caught him yet, have we?” Minho points out bitterly. Without waiting for Jisung’s response, he leaves to get the forensics report from a scientist Jisung doesn’t recognize, leaving Jisung to approach the crime scene with some amount of trepidation. 

The body is positioned in front of the pulpit, and a pair of wings have been drawn extending from its back in blood which has begun to dry down into the wood of the floor. Jisung’s gaze travels from its feet, which are pristinely clean in contrast to the rest of the blood-splattered scene, up to its face—and the revulsive horror that overcomes him is so strong he retches, unable to tear his eyes from what looks to be his twin.

The next few minutes are a blur as Jisung is quickly ushered into a private corner of the church. He sits with his head between his knees, counting each breath and focusing on the way it expands his chest. That takes the edge off the panic, but it's not enough to overcome the shock he feels at suddenly knowing what it would be like to see his own dead body.

Eventually, he manages to compose himself enough to take another look at the body, against the advice of Minho, who's hovering worriedly by his side. Though their builds and facial structures are incredibly similar, there are a few differences between Jisung and the man lying dead in front of the pulpit. Jisung's cheeks are fuller, his eyes not quite as sunken—but that might have something to do with rigor mortis setting in. Hyunjin would know.

Minho clears his throat uncomfortably. “Jisung, I think you should see this,” he says, a pristinely white note held carefully between two of his fingers so as to not wrinkle it.

Jisung pulls on gloves numbly, trying to avoid looking at the corpse that so closely resembles him out of the corner of his eye. He takes the proffered note, scans it quickly, and immediately sinks to the ground again.

“Fuck,” he croaks.

 _Detective Han_ , the note reads, _it is so good to finally get to speak with you. I've been fascinated by your mind for a while now, and this man you see here was a poor substitute. I hope you don't take this as a threat, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. I'll be in contact again soon._

The note signs off with a heart drawn in dried blood.

Jisung runs a hand over his face, takes one, two, deep breaths, then stands up.

"Put this in a bag to be used for evidence, please," he requests. Minho wordlessly takes it and spirits it off to the forensics team to be dusted for fingerprints or any other DNA left behind. Jisung already knows there won't be any—their killer is too careful to make such trivial mistakes.

He already has gloves on and the forensics team has finished up, so Jisung can examine the body without restrictions. He hadn't noticed them before, but red carnations are scattered around the body, with one particularly full bloom placed in the hair of the corpse. It's carefully styled, and when Jisung pinches a lock between his fingers he can hear the telltale crunch of hairspray.

"He took his time with this one," he says to no one in particular, leaning in to get a better look at the wings drawn in blood. There's one question that's still bugging him, though.

Minho voices it for him as he returns to Jisung's side, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder in comfort. "Is it just me, or does this scene seem contradictory?"

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Jisung agrees, trying not to let his voice shake. Professionalism, he reminds himself, ignoring the raised hairs on his arms in favor of examining the carefully made-up face of the dead body. "See here? There was clearly a lot of effort into making this body presentable--more than was put into the other victims, but the level of violence inflicted is also significantly higher."

Jisung carefully peels back the man's white shirt to reveal a collection of fresh wounds, all remniscient of torture. "This would make me worried for my safety, but—"

"But?" Minho prompts.

"Is it strange I trust the killer when they say they don't want to hurt me?" Jisung wonders. At Minho's raised eyebrows, he quickly adds, "It's definitely weird, I know, but—why go to all the trouble of finding someone who looked exactly like me and torture them instead of just abducting me, if that's their end goal?"

"Who knows how these peoples' minds work," Minho scoffs, turning away from the body. "We need to get back to the station. The Chief called for you."

"Can't we at least get an I.D. on the body first?" Jisung demands, but Minho is unmoved.

"They can do that without us. Right now, your safety comes first," he says firmly, grabbing Jisung's arm gently and steering them both out of the building. They're immediately met with the flashes of cameras and microphones shoved in their faces, reporters barking questions without giving them time to answer.

"Detective Han," one particularly pushy one asks, stepping as close to Jisung as he can get, "we were informed that you have a connection to the latest victim. Would you care to elaborate?"

"No comment," Jisung mumbles, and doesn't stop mumbling until they reach the relative safety of Minho's car.

"You see?" he demands, turning to face Minho as he buckles his seat belt. "If Chief Im takes me off the case, even if it's for my own safety, it'll tell the reporters everything they need to know."

"We'll see what she says about that," Minho declares grimly, reversing out of his parking spot so quickly that the gathered throng of reporters has to scramble to get out of the way.

"I'm pulling you off," Chief Im informs Jisung when he arrives back at the station, visibly shaken. She's not the most maternal type, but there's something undeniably motherly in the way she leans over her desk to peer at Jisung, gauging his reaction. "I won't reconsider, so don't even try it," she continues, crossing her arms and sinking back into her desk chair. "I'm even considering having you stay at the station for a while. This killer clearly has an obsession with you."

"It's probably just a coincidence," Jisung protests, though it's half-hearted at best. He's still reeling from the shock of seeing what at first glance appeared to be his own dead body lying on the church floor. Minho, standing quietly at his side, nudges him in the ribs gently. At Jisung's flinch, his expression shutters into something protective.

"I agree, for what it's worth, Chief Im," he says, ignoring the betrayed look Jisung sends him. "We have no idea what this person wants with Jisung, and it's best to keep him in the station where he's out of harm's way."

"My thoughts exactly," Chief Im says with an air of satisfaction. "Very well. Detective Han, until further notice I'll have to ask you to remain at the station, and to never go anywhere unaccompanied. I know you're perfectly capable of defending yourself," she adds at Jisung's start of indignation, "but there are more ways that this subject can hurt you than physical."

Jisung doesn't really have a say either way, and he recognizes that he might have gotten a little too invested in working this case to remain objective. "Okay," he agrees grudgingly. "Can I stay updated and work on the case from the station, at least?"

Chief Im pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers and exhales slowly. "Against my better judgement, I'll allow it," she sighs. "I'll assign you to work with the forensic scientists--maybe you'll be able to lend a unique perspective to their work from your field experience."

Jisung finds Hyunjin bent over a corpse, humming quietly to himself as he cuts open the liver to examine its contents. He clears his throat politely, and Hyunjin drops his scalpel in surprise, whipping around.

"Hey," Jisung says, aware of how lame it sounds.

"I'm sorry you were taken off the case," Hyunjin says in lieu of a greeting, slipping off his gloves and setting them aside as he approaches Jisung and draws him into a comforting hug. "I know how much catching this motherfucker meant to you."

"Well," Jisung coughs, leaning into Hyunjin's shoulder, "it's not my problem now, I suppose. I can still help out around the lab, though."

"I'm glad Chief Im could allow that," Hyunjin snarks, handing Jisung a pair of gloves. "Here--you can start by helping me figure out where and when this newest victim ate."

Jisung complies, eager to be useful to the investigation in any way he can. Though he tries to focus on Hyunjin's instructions, his mind keeps drifting back to the way his name had looked neatly printed on the outside of the note. When he looks up to shake himself out of it, his eyes meet Hyunjin's over the corpse of the man that looks like him. The spark of interest that Jisung's grown used to seeing in them is even brighter than usual, and Jisung wants to flinch away from the way they seem to peer through his body and examine his very soul.

Then Hyunjin blinks, and the moment is gone. They finish examining the dead man’s liver in silence.

"How are you holding up?" Hyunjin wonders as they clean up his workstation. Jisung, washing a pair of scalpels at the sink across the room, uses the sound of the running water as an excuse to avoid answering.

Hyunjin, undeterred, presses on. “It must be jarring, to be promised further contact with a monster.”

Jisung exhales slowly and sinks down to sit on one of the stools by the door. “Do you want to go have lunch? We can talk about it there. It’s a little odd to have a conversation in a room with a corpse.”

“Don’t worry, the dead won’t repeat what they hear,” Hyunjin laughs, but he strips off his lab coat and makes his way to the door anyway. “Come on, we can get barbeque again.”

Hyunjin occupies their walk to the barbeque place with lighthearted chatter, for which Jisung is grateful. After they arrive and are seated, though, Hyunjin folds his hands together on the table and directs the full force of his attention to Jisung.

"Okay," Jisung says, fiddling with his fingers under the table. He knows Hyunjin won't judge him for what he's about to say, but it's nerve-wracking all the same. "I'm about to say something really strange," he warns.

"Try me," Hyunjin says, looking pleased that Jisung is opening up.

"I know I should feel disgusted that a murderer has contacted me," Jisung starts, training his gaze on the tablecloth. "I should be horrified, and scared, and all number of negative emotions. I should want to go into witness protection and never think about this case ever again, so that they can't find me."

"But you don't feel that way?" Hyunjin asks, eyes gleaming.

"Not at all," Jisung confesses. It bursts out of him like he's just let down a dam, and he finds himself powerless to stop himself from continuing. "It's definitely not a normal reaction, but when I first read that note, I mostly just felt excited."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows encouragingly.

"I was happy that someone was so focused on me, for once," Jisung says quietly, twisting his hands together. "I've always wanted to get to know the mind behind the crime scenes I review every day. I just--I had no idea the feeling was mutual. And now--I don't want to find this killer to catch him and put him away for good." His next words come out in a near-whisper. "I want to find him for _me_."

Jisung thinks he sees a flash of delight across Hyunjin's face for a split second, but it's gone before he can really register it. "I won't lie and say that's a normal reaction," Hyunjin says, but his face is free of judgment. "I think it is a normal reaction for someone with your curiosity, though."

"What does that mean?" Jisung wonders, shoulders relaxing slightly.

"You want to understand everything," Hyunjin explains, and pauses for a few minutes as their food arrives. "It's not a surprise that you'd be interested in how the mind of this monster works, and it's not a surprise that returned interest would excite you. But that's all beside the point, isn't it?" he says abruptly. "You're off the case now—you no longer have a direct impact on whether he's caught or not. Isn't that what's really bothering you?"

Jisung flinches back in his seat. The thing is, Hyunjin isn't wrong. Jisung takes on a very personal responsibility for every case that comes across his desk, but the killer's note, addressed directly to him, has just turned that responsibility to the next level. "I want to be in control of their freedom," he admits, inhaling the smell of meat grilling. "Isn't that the strange part? I don't—I don't even care if they go free anymore, as long as I can decide that they can."

"That's also not unreasonable," Hyunjin comments, depositing a perfectly grilled slice of pork belly on Jisung's plate. "They made it personal, so it makes sense that you'd want a certain degree of control over their fate."

Jisung takes a bite of meat to avoid answering. As if sensing his reluctance to continue talking about the case, Hyunjin smoothly redirects the conversation to smoother waters. The rest of the meal is pleasant, and Hyunjin offers to foot the bill at the end.

Like the first time they ate together, they pause outside the restaurant. It's snowing again, the delicate flakes landing in Hyunjin's hair and sparkling as they reflect the light from the nearby streetlamp. Jisung is so preoccupied with the way the light refracts that he doesn't notice Hyunjin stepping closer. He does notice when Hyunjin gently takes hold of his chin and tilts his head up. Their eyes meet.

One second passes, then the next. Hyunjin begins to pull away, looking apologetic, and Jisung decides that that just won't do. He surges up and knocks their lips together. It's clumsy at first because Hyunjin clearly isn't expecting it, and their teeth clack together for a few moments.

Hyunjin adjusts quickly, though, wrapping an arm around Jisung's waist to pull him flush against his body, tipping Jisung's head up to deepen the kiss. His tongue probes Jisung's mouth like he's trying to memorize its layout, and his hand makes its way to tangle in Jisung's hair.

Jisung breathes through his nose as much as he can, but eventually they both have to pull back for air. Hyunjin's pupils are blown wide and his lips are swollen, a flush rising high on his cheeks despite the cold weather. Jisung can only imagine how debauched he himself must look, and he can feel his own blush getting hotter at the thought.

"I thought I was misreading things," Hyunjin says, uncharacteristically flustered. "I—"

"Do you want to come over?" Jisung blurts, cutting him off. He immediately kicks himself for being so forward. "I mean—it's not safe for you to take the train home so late. Who knows what could happen?"

Hyunjin just laughs, leaning down to take Jisung's hand in his own and intertwine their fingers. "I think I should be the one worrying about you, given your track record," he teases, shooting Jisung a grin. "I'd be happy to come over and keep an eye on you."

* * *

Jisung doesn't really pay attention to the progress on the case in the next few days, too wrapped up in his new boyfriend to seek out updates on his own. Minho and his new partner, Felix, aren't exactly keen to keep him up to date, considering that he's officially a potential victim, so Jisung mostly just hangs out in the basement with Hyunjin, pretending to work when someone comes down to check on them and making out when they're alone. Their lunches continue, with the addition of dinners and Jisung visiting Hyunjin when he has shifts at the bar.

All in all, Jisung hasn't spoken to Minho in person in quite some time, which is why he’s confused when the other detective walks briskly into Hyunjin’s brother’s bar.

“Hyung? What are you doing here?” he demands. Minho ignores him as he strides behind the bar, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and forcing Hyunjin’s wrists behind his back.

“Hwang Hyunjin, you’re under arrest for the murder of four victims. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to have a lawyer present during questioning, and one will be provided to you if you cannot afford it.” His voice is monotone, face carefully blank.

Jisung’s thoughts are in chaos. “Hyung, there must be a mistake,” he says, making to rise from his seat at the bar. He’s stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to find Felix shaking his head grimly.

“Wait until you see the evidence we have against him,” he says, and the seriousness of his tone is enough to force Jisung back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He’d never even considered the possibility before, but now that the concept of Hyunjin as a murder has been introduced to him he can see all the little details falling into place. The late nights, the mismatching of the forensics reports with witness testimony, the—oh, god. The nondescript van, smelling so strongly of bleach. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

 _My brother’s a florist_ , Hyunjin had said, to explain why he knew the symbolism behind flowers. But Jisung has met his brother—been to the bar he owns. “Another lie I didn’t notice,” he mumbles as quietly as he can, burying his head in his hand and trying to take deep, calming breaths. He can hear Hyunjin being led away and looks up against his better judgement.

Contrary to what he’d expect, Hyunjin doesn’t even look fazed. He’s twisted his head to look back at Jisung, eyes completely calm and lips twisted up into a sick parody of a smile. He mouths something at Jisung that he can’t place in the moment. Only later, lying in bed and replaying that moment over and over, does he realize that Hyunjin had said, “I’ll see you soon.”

The story all comes out once the hubbub over Hyunjin's arrest dies down. The rest of the station is equally as shocked as Jisung is, but they at least have the excuse of not knowing him that well. Minho tells Jisung that his attachment to Hyunjin only served to blind him to the truth, not reveal it to him, but he can't help but feel as if he should have seen something, put the clues together earlier.

Minho fills him in on the details of his and Felix's investigation over lunch. He'd been suspicious of Hyunjin since he failed to find evidence of a terminal disease in Im Sanghoon, but there hadn't been any concrete evidence until Jisung had been pulled off the case. "I noticed that in our interviews with the victims' families, they all mentioned that they were drinking or out at a bar, which would explain how the killer ensured his victims fit his profile—people spill a lot of secrets when they're drunk."

"I should have noticed something," Jisung mumbles, looking down at his hands. He's barely touched his food, can't even bring himself to eat when his blindness had been the cause of several peoples' deaths.

"He was very careful around you," Minho reassures him, reaching across the table to clasp Jisung's hands in his own. "You did help, though—you mentioned that you were visiting Hyunjin at the bar. I would have never known he had a second job if it weren't for you."

To his horror, Jisung can feel his eyes welling up with tears. He's not sure what's worse, the fact that he'd dated a murderer without knowing or the fact that he's not sure if he's crying for the victims or not. "Hyung, he literally had a murder van. I don't know how much more obvious it could have been to me than that. It smelled like bleach, and I just believed him when he said it was because his brother had to clean up after drunks. What kind of bartender drives customers home instead of calling them a cab?"

"No one could have expected you to jump straight to 'my boyfriend is a murderer,'" Minho points out, squeezing Jisung's hands in reassurance. "Even I thought that I might just be imagining things, and I wasn't dating the man."

Jisung sniffles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "Tell me what happened next. What else did I miss?"

Minho frowns at the self-recrimination but doesn't say anything, only continues with his story. "Well, it's a little embarrassing, but I went to his bar one night and tried to keep out of his line of sight. When he started cleaning up, I got in my car and waited for him to leave, then tailed him. If he'd gone home, I would have just ignored it, but he ended up driving to a warehouse, which was suspicious enough that I saved the address and went back to investigate in the morning. I kicked down the door and—"

"And then you found two people tied up and screaming for help," Jisung says dully. He'd met them already, both hollow-eyed and profusely thankful to Minho for rescuing them. He hadn't said anything, too wrapped up in his own guilt for failing to see what had, in retrospect, been blindingly obvious.

"That just about wraps it up," Minho says. "He's been shockingly uncooperative in questioning so far--won't give up any of his methods or if there's anyone else we haven't found. We have solid evidence against him, thanks to the two victims I found, but it would be nice to get a confession so we don't have to have a prolonged trial."

"Let me talk to him," Jisung says abruptly, jerking his hands out of Minho's grip. "I might be able to get something out of him that you can't. Even if I can't, I—I deserve closure."

"You certainly do," Minho agrees quietly. "I'll talk to Chief Im and see what I can do about that."

"He said he'd see me later," Jisung confesses, picking at his food half-heartedly. "At the time, I didn't want that to be true, but is it weird that now I just want to talk to him and understand why he did this?"

Minho shakes his head, raising his hand to call a waiter over to collect their food. "Eat this before you go in to talk with him," he advises. "You'll need all the strength you can get."

“Thank you for the support, hyung. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

Jisung doesn't end up eating, but through no fault of his own. Chief Im okays him talking to Hyunjin almost as soon as the words are out of Minho's mouth, and he's summarily escorted to the maximum-security holding cell Hyunjin is being kept in.

"Jisung," Hyunjin greets. He looks frustratingly put together, though for the first time in Jisung's memory his hair is loose and falling around his face instead of tied back into a neat ponytail. "It's wonderful to see you. Come to chat?"

"Would it be possible for me to have some privacy, please?" Jisung requests of the guard standing close by. "If you could wait at the end of the hall, that would be great."

The guard looks conflicted for a second, but she nods and makes her way out of earshot. Her eyes are still trained on Hyunjin, watching warily for any signs of aggressive behavior. He pays her no mind, attention focused entirely on Jisung. There's something terrifyingly loving in his gaze, and Jisung has to suppress a shiver.

He wants to start off strong, accusatory, but instead what comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "Did you enjoy toying with me? Making me believe that you actually understood me?"

Hyunjin looks taken aback—another first. "I never toyed with you," he declares firmly, leaning into the reinforced glass that separates them. "I do understand you, and you understand me, don't you? You don't need to ask why I did it, because you already know why."

The worst part is that he's right. "It's art," Jisung whispers, and is rewarded with a bright smile from Hyunjin. "You did it to bring beauty to the world. Creating something beautiful from others' suffering—"

"That's what I do," Hyunjin agrees, and he looks happier than Jisung has ever seen him, sitting handcuffed in a jail cell. "Or, well, did."

"Did you love me?" Jisung wonders, not knowing if he wants to know the answer. "Or were you just pretending? Was I supposed to be a piece of art?"

"Oh, Jisung," Hyunjin croons, so close to the glass now Jisung can see his breath fogging it up. "You are my most beautiful creation. How could I not love you?"

The surprisingly temperate weather outside is a sharp contrast to the cold of the air conditioned jail cell, but Jisung still feels like he's freezing. Instead of going to find Minho like he'd promised, he goes straight to Chief Im and requests the rest of the day off. Taking in how visibly shaken he is, she agrees and hesitates for a second before reaching out and ruffling his hair.

"Take care of yourself, Detective Han," she tells him, and Jisung nods numbly before beginning the trek back to his car.

When he gets home, he collapses on his couch, throws an arm over his eyes, and just thinks. Memories of his time with Hyunjin flash before his eyes. Lunches, feeling like no one had ever just understood him like Hyunjin. The first time he'd visited Hyunjin at the bar, and subsequently having all his needs anticipated and taken care of. He'd liked that feeling, he remembers, and tries to grab it and hold onto it. It's the first bit of warmth he's felt all day, and he sinks into the feeling, remembering the way he'd wanted to stay with Hyunjin forever.

 _He’s a murderer, a kidnapper, and a liar_ , Jisung tells himself, casting his mind back to the image of Park Seoyeon kneeling on the church floor, her fiancée strung up in her own apartment. The nameless man who might have looked like him in life, features twisted by death. The two people who’d been found with knockout drugs in their system, drugs that had never been reported in the systems of the previous victims—which Hyunjin had examined. _I should hate him_.

Then he remembers what Hyunjin’s victims’ lives had been like. Park Seoyeon, constantly torn between her identity and her family. Im Sanghoon, bullied and chronically ill. Kim Eunhae, prejudice preventing her from marrying the woman she loved in her home country. He certainly hadn’t been killing anyone who was content with their lives. In a way, he’d only been putting them out of their misery. _It’s noble_ , Jisung thinks, and hates himself for it.

What clinches it for him is the memory of the way Hyunjin’s eyes had stared right through him in that jail cell, cut through the outer layer of flesh to get to the twisted part of himself he’s been trying to hide his entire life. Hyunjin had seen all of him, and his expression hadn’t changed from the hopelessly besotted one he’s always worn when he looks at Jisung. It takes a monster to love a monster, after all.

When he sits up, he's resolved. Hyunjin has always taken care of him. It's time he returns the favor.

There are a few moments when he thinks better of the decision he's made--when he enters the station the next day and sees Hyunjin's would-be victims sitting huddled together with their backs to the wall and eyes scanning the room for potential threats, when he sees Minho looking completely relieved that the killer he's been chasing for so long will never hurt anyone again.

But his selfish desire to be known trumps all of that regret, so Jisung calls one of his contacts that will create new identities for them both for the right price and purchases plane tickets to America under false names. He hasn't told Hyunjin of his plans, but from the knowing look in his eyes when Jisung visits him throughout the week he has some idea anyway.

Hyunjin's trial is scheduled for next week, and Jisung knows that will be the best time to get him alone, away from the prying eyes of the guards that have been assigned to watch him. They've relaxed security in the time that's passed since Hyunjin was arrested, lulled into complacency by his apparent good behavior and resignedness to arrest, so it doesn't take a lot of persuading for Jisung to convince the guard on duty that he should take his lunch break just a few minutes early.

"He fooled me for so long," Jisung tells him, mustering up all his acting skills to appear righteously indignant. "Please, just let me get one punch in before he goes to prison forever."

The guard looks convinced and agrees. "Only five minutes," he tells Jisung, "then the next guard will rotate in, and I don't know if she'll be as sympathetic as I am if she finds you in there."

"That's all I need," Jisung reassures him, and waits to be let into the cell. Once the guard has left, he turns to Hyunjin and punches him in the face.

Frustratingly, Hyunjin just laughs. "Nice one," he says, wiping a bit of blood away from his mouth. "I probably deserved it. Now, are we going to get out of here?"

Jisung tries to frown at him, but the giddiness of getting to touch Hyunjin again overtakes him and he bursts out into a delighted laugh. "Here," he says, handing Hyunjin a pair of sunglasses and a hoodie. "No one will expect you to be out of your cell, so they won't notice you as long as you don't make it obvious. Our flight is in two hours."

"I knew you'd understand," Hyunjin says, and the look he directs at Jisung before he slips on the sunglasses is scorching. Jisung flushes down to the tips of his toes and grabs Hyunjin's hand. It's cold and clammy, but intertwining their fingers feels like coming home.

"Come on," Jisung says, tugging at their clasped hands to lead Hyunjin out of the cell. 

* * *

_Epilogue: One Year Later_

A soft ocean breeze ruffles Jisung's hair as he pushes open the door to the porch quietly, careful not to disturb Hyunjin. Like the first time they’d met, Hyunjin is bent over a corpse, and like the first time they’d met, he looks up and greets Jisung with a blinding smile.

Unlike the first time they’d met, Jisung immediately goes over to his husband and gives him a quick peck before taking in the art Hyunjin has made for him.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, and means it more than he ever has before.

**Author's Note:**

> title from [this poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/57568/dyed-carnations) by robyn schiff.  
> [beautiful](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SI1cIBehS1q2uZeUHm1OmQhMPeChWnIe/view?usp=sharing) [art](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1gNLiSA-OHJOzt4EK0383wv1Lj8QyZ8yz/view?usp=sharing) for this fic, i can't thank my artist enough! hope you enjoyed ♡


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